A  VICTIM  OF  CONSCIENCE 

by 
Milton  Goldsmith 


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o  37 


• 


There  lay  the  stiffening  body. 


A  VICTIM  OF 
CONSCIENCE 


BY 

MILTON    GOLDSMITH 

Author  of  "  Rabbi  and  Priest,"  etc. 


1903 

HENRY  T.  COATES   &  COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 


COPYRIGHT. 

HENRY    T.    COAXES    &    CO. 
1903. 


PREFACE. 


ENVIRONMENT  and  sympathy  are  important 
factors  in  an  author's  selection  of  a  theme.  If 
he  has  a  message  to  the  world,  his  characters 
cannot  always  be  of  his  own  choosing,  but  are 
determined  by  a  power  stronger  than  caprice. 
The  desire  to  add  to  the  world's  knowledge  of  a 
peculiar  people,  to  portray  characters  but  little 
known  and  frequently  misunderstood,  to  analyze 
a  creed  at  variance  with  the  prevailing  faith, 
have  influenced  the  choice  of  my  subject. 

My  heroes  and  heroines  are  humble  folk,  with 
intensely  human  characteristics,  with  sterling 
qualities  and  corresponding  shortcomings,  and  I 
introduce  them  to  the  reader  without  praise  or 
apology. 


iv  Preface. 

In  depicting  the  psychological  effects  of  the 
crime  committed  by  the  principal  actor  in  the 
story,  I  have  endeavored  to  adhere  to  strict 
probabilities.  "  Conscience  does  make  cowards 
of  us  all,"  and  the  vagaries  of  this  conscience- 
coward,  driven  by  remorse  to  seek  relief  in 
ceaseless  activity,  in  superstition,  and  even  in 
apostasy,  are,  I  believe,  in  no  wise  exaggerated. 

In  drawing  a  distinction  between  differing 
creeds,  I  trust  I  shall  not  offend  the  suscepti- 
bilities of  the  devout  of  either;  for  I  have 
endeavored  to  approach  a  difficult  subject  with 
reverent  consideration. 

MILTON  GOLDSMITH. 


A  VICTIM  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     SHLEMIEL. 

M  Alas !  misfortune  travels  in  a  train, 
And  oft  in  life  forms  one  perpetual  chain. 
Fear  buries  fear,  and  ills  on  ills  attend, 
Till  life  and  sorrow  meet  one  common  end." —  Young. 

THERE  was  a  heavy,  hesitating  step  upon  the  creak- 
ing staircase.  The  listening  woman  hastily  turned  up 
the  lamp,  revealing  by  its  fitful  glare  the  wretched  bar- 
renness of  the  room,  and  prepared  to  meet  her  husband 
with  a  brave  smile  of  welcome. 

"  Dear  Isaac,"  she  said,  taking  him  by  both  hands 
and  affectionately  kissing  him,  "I'm  so  glad  you've 
come  back." 

The  man's  face  brightened  for  a  moment,  only  to 
be  again  immersed  in  gloom,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  evi- 
dences of  poverty  around  him.  He  hung  his  hat  upon 
a  nail  and  sank  into  a  chair,  weary  and  disheartened. 

There  was  little  in  the  appearance  of  Isaac  Schwartz 
to  proclaim  him  a  Jew.  His  features  were  clear  cut, 
the  brow  high,  and  surmounted  by  a  mass  of  wavy 


A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

black  hair.  His  nose  was  well  shaped,  but  his  mouth 
was  weak  and  his  lips  thin,  indicative  of  indecision. 
The  pallor  of  his  face,  due  to  fasting  and  privation,  was 
heightened  by  the  dark,  curly  beard  which  surrounded 
it.  He  had  been  a  handsome  man,  but,  as  in  the  case 
of  his  wife,  bodily  suffering  had  left  a  deep  impress, 
and  his  sordid  surroundings,  and  seedy,  threadbare 
attire,  seemed  to  stamp  him  with  the  hopeless  brand  of 
poverty. 

"  Run  and  kiss  papa,  Josie,"  said  the  woman,  to  her 
four-year-old  boy.  Then  she  eagerly  asked,  "What 
luck,  Isaac  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  unfortunate,  as  usual,"  returned  the 
husband,  moodily.  "  I  have  tried  everything.  I  an- 
swered every  advertisement  in  the  papers,  but  found  the 
situations  taken.  When  the  people  saw  my  wretched 
clothes,  they  found  some  excuse  to  get  rid  of  me.  I 
went  to  the  wharves,  but  there  were  five  applicants  for 
every  vacancy.  There  is  no  use  to  try  further.  I  am 
at  my  wit's  end." 

The  woman  longed  to  cheer  him,  but  her  heart  was 
too  full  of  sorrow  to  speak.  There  was  a  painful  pause. 

"  To  think  it  has  come  to  this,"  cried  Isaac,  at  length, 
with  quivering  lip,  "  that  I  should  be  forced  to  beg  for 
work  upon  the  wharves ! " 

"  There  is  no  shame  in  that,"  replied  his  wife.  "  If 
you  could  only  have  succeeded  in  getting  work  of  any 
kind." 

The  man  sighed,  but  did  not  reply.  He  was  in  no 
mood  for  conversation.  Washing  his  hands,  in  obedience 
to  religious  precept,  he  sat  down  to  his  meagre  supper. 


The  Shlemiel.  3 

His  brow  contracted,  as  a  vague  recollection  of  former 
plenty  crossed  his  mind.  Mechanically  he  broke  a 
piece  of  bread,  and,  dipping  it  into  the  salt,  said  a  short 
Hebrew  prayer,  according  to  the  time-honored  custom. 
His  wife  peeled  a  potato  and  laid  it  upon  his  plate ;  but 
he  could  not  eat  it;  it  seemed  to  choke  him. 

"  Don't  take  it  so  to  heart,  Isaac,"  said  his  wife,  try- 
ing to  inspire  hope  with  a  smile.  "  Have  you  been  at 
the  office  of  the  Relief  Society  ?  " 

"Yes;  they  sent  me  to  a  place  on  Water  Street, 
where  a  reliable  man  was  wanted." 

"Well?" 

"  When  I  got  there  the  place  was  taken." 

"  Perhaps  they  know  of  another." 

"  They  know  of  nothing  else.  When  I  told  them  of 
my  great  need,  they  offered  me  a  couple  of  dollars. 
My  God !  have  I  been  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  tak- 
ing alms — I,  who  have  been  so  lavish  in  giving  to 
others?" 

Tears  of  mortification  started  to  the  unhappy  man's 
eyes. 

"Decidedly,  Isaac,"  said  the  woman,  between  jest 
and  earnest,  "  you  are  a  Shlemiel." 

"  Yes,  papa  is  a  Shlemiel,"  echoed  little  Joe,  catch- 
ing the  familiar  word. 

Isaac  looked  at  his  wife  with  an  expression  of  such 
unutterable  grief  that  she  instantly  felt  sorry  for  the 
epithet  she  had  used ;  but  Joe  repeated,  in  childish 
glee,  "  Poor  papa  is  a  Shlemiel !  " 

The  word  "  Shlemiel,"  which  has  no  synonym  in  our 
tongue,  has  a  variety  of  meanings.  An  individual  who, 


4  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

through  no  fault  of  his  own,  is  generally  unfortunate 
in  his  undertakings ;  a  person  who  is  the  innocent  vic- 
tim of  a  succession  of  mishaps ;  a  clown,  who  is  clumsy, 
ungraceful,  awkward  or  careless ;  a  blunderer,  who  is 
deficient  in  tact  or  address,  and  who,  in  spite  of  honest 
endeavors,  is  doomed  to  be  unsuccessful — such  a  person 
is  a  Shlemiel.  In  short,  the  word  designates  him  who 
harvests  the  thorns  by  the  way,  while  his  more  fortu- 
nate neighbor  garners  in  the  fruit';  who  is  constrained 
to  be  content  with  the  skimmed  milk  of  life,  while 
another,  perhaps  less  deserving,  enjoys  the  cream.  The 
word  becomes  a  term  of  pity,  of  reproach,  of  contempt, 
according  to  the  intonation  of  the  speaker's  voice,  or  the 
receptive  mood  of  the  person  addressed. 

Often  had  Mrs.  Schwartz  applied  the  title  "  Shle- 
miel "  to  her  unfortunate  husband  in  jest,  and  as  often 
had  he  replied,  "  Yes,  I  am  in  hard  luck ;  but  things 
will  change.  It  cannot  always  remain  so."  Then  the 
term  seemed  but  to  convey  a  wife's  sympathy,  or,  at 
most,  a  harmless  raillery.  But  to-day,  in  his  fit  of 
dejection,  the  word  had  a  different  significance.  It 
became  a  humiliating  reproach,  a  stinging  rebuke,  and 
the  man  felt  it  keenly.  He  leaned  his  elbows  upon  the 
table,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  sobbed  like  a 
child,  while  Joe  looked  up  in  innocent  surprise,  and 
Rose,  in  her  cradle,  awoke  and  cried  in  unison. 

"  Isaac,  dear  Isaac,"  said  his  wife,  remorsefully,  try- 
ing to  comfort  him.  "I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  your 
feelings.  It  is  not  your  fault  that  you  are  unfortunate. 
I  know  you  are  doing  the  best  you  can.  Come,  don't 
cry,  husband." 


The  Shlemiel.  5 

"Let  me  weep,  Lena/'  sobbed  the  man.  "It  has 
been  coming  on  all  day.  Tears  may  relieve  my  break- 
ing heart." 

Lena  continued  her  supper  in  silence.  After  a  while 
he  was  quieter,  but  he  could  eat  nothing.  He  sat  in  a 
corner  with  Joe  on  his  lap,  and  listened  to  the  child's 
merry  prattle.  Then,  after  the  children  had  gone  to 
sleep,  Isaac  sat  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands  and 
gave  himself  over  to  gloomy  reflections.  He  could  not 
drive  that  hateful  word  "  Shlemiel "  out  of  his  head. 
His  own  boy  had  reproached  him  with  being  a  poor 
fool.  Would  he  always  be  an  unfortunate  wretch  ? 
Would  his  first-born  grow  up  to  despise  him  and  fling 
contempt  at  him  ?  The  lines  upon  his  forehead  deep- 
ened as  he  realized  the  wretchedness  and  hopelessness  of 
his  position. 

"  Isaac,"  said  his  wife,  divining  his  thoughts,  "  do 
you  not  know  that  it  is  a  sin  to  deplore  our  lot  ?  You 
remember  there  is  a  passage  in  the.  Talmud  which  de- 
clares that,  at  our  birth,  the  Lord  decrees  for  each  of  us 
whether  we  are  to  be  rich  or  poor.  There  is  no  use 
trying  to  escape  God's  decree." 

"  So  it  appears,"  said  Schwartz,  gloomily ;  "  and  yet 
I  once  thought  that  I  was  destined  to  become  rich. 
Think  of  the  comfort  in  which  we  lived  in  Germany, 
and  contrast  it  with  my  present  condition — poor,  friend- 
less, reduced  to  beggary  ! " 

"  Not  friendless,  Isaac.  You  have  me  and  the 
children." 

Lena  moved  her  chair  close  to  her  husband's,  and 
they  sat  hand  in  hand  in  the  dark  (for  the  lamp  had 


6  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

spluttered  and  gone  out  for  the  want  of  oil),  and  spoke 
of  the  past.  "  A  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  remem- 
bering happier  things,"  says  the  author  of  Locksley  Hall, 
and  truly  there  is  no  greater  misery  than  recalling  a 
happy  past,  midst  the  sorrows  of  a  dismal  present. 

Ah,  the  past — the  joyful,  happy,  the  sad,  weary, 
wretched  past !  It  was  now  four  years  since  they  had 
emigrated  from  Bavaria.  Isaac's  father,  old  Meyer 

Schwartz,  was  a  power  in  his  native  village  of  D . 

He  was  in  fair  circumstances,  and  educated  as  far  as 
education  went  in  those  days ;  for  the  Jews,  rich  and 
poor  alike,  were  denied  the  privileges  of  the  village 
schools,  and  were  limited  in  their  instruction  to  the 
teachings  of  their  "  Cheders "  and  the  scraps  of  infor- 
mation which  they  could  impart  one  to  the  other.  Old 
Schwartz  was  a  profound  Talmud  scholar,  and  was 
deemed  as  wise  as  he  was  devout,  which  was  no  equivocal 
compliment,  for  he  was  pious  indeed.  His  little  fortune 
had  been  honestly  acquired  by  merchandising,  and  his 
house  was  known  throughout  Bavaria  for  its  hospitality. 
There  was  a  large  family  of  children,  of  which  Isaac 
was  the  oldest.  It  was  the  father's  ambition  to  make  a 
Rabbi  of  his  first-born,  but  in  spite  of  his  earnest  and 
painstaking  instruction,  Isaac  never  got  beyond  the  gen- 
eral outlines  of  the  law  and  the  Talmud.  Buying  and 
selling  afforded  him  more  pleasure  than  poring  over 
parchments,  and,  after  a  vain  effort  to  keep  him  to  his 
studies,  old  Sclnvartz  reluctantly  allowed  him  to  follow 
his  own  inclinations.  Isaac  was  an  intelligent  lad,  quick 
at  perception,  and,  like  his  father,  very  pious.  He  pos- 
sessed grievous  faults,  however,  greatest  of  which  were 


The  Shlemiel.  7 

lack  of  decision  and  an  exceedingly  morbid  sensibility. 
He  was  a  moral  coward,  vacillating  in  his  views,  mis- 
trusting his  own  opinions,  and  unusually  sensitive  in 
regard  to  adverse  criticism.  He  would  make  up  his 
mind  to  a  course  of  action,  only  to  change  his  intentions 
on  the  morrow,  and  in  this  indecision  we  shall  find  an 
explanation  of  his  past  failures  and  his  future  mishaps. 

In  those  days  the  Jews  in  Germany  had  few  rights 
and  many  grievances.  Harsh  measures  were  devised, 
stringent  laws  enacted  to  drive  them  out  of  the  country, 
or  at  least  to  restrict  their  increase.  The  possession  and 
cultivation  of  land,  the  study  of  a  profession,  the  follow- 
ing of  the  fine  arts,  were  all  interdicted.  Buying  and 
selling,  borrowing  and  lending,  were  the  only  channels 
in  which  the  Israelites  were  allowed  to  exercise  their 
ingenuity,  and  grievous  was  their  condition  in  conse- 
quence. Worse  still,  a  Jew  was  not  allowed  to  marry 
until  some  co-religionist  hi  the  community  had  died  or 
had  moved  away. 

When,  therefore,  Isaac  fell  desperately  in  love  with 
pretty  Lena,  and  found  his  prospects  of  hymeneal  hap- 
piness indefinitely  delayed,  he  conceived  a  violent  dislike 
to  the  government  which  could  enact  such  unnatural 
laws.  Lena  was  young,  however,  and  agreed  to  wait 
until  some  of  the  superannuated  relicts  of  the  commu- 
nity should  humanely  make  room  for  them.  They 
waited,  one,  two,  three  years — nobody  died,  and  nobody 
moved.  The  greatest  blessing  of  a  true  love  is  the 
possibility  of  uniting  the  beloved  heart  with  our  own, 
of  sharing  its  joys,  of  watching  over  and  dispelling  its 
doubts,  of  bearing  its  sorrows  and  burdens.  Such  a 


8  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

love  cannot  be  curbed  by  the  arbitrary  rulings  of  a  big- 
oted government.  Like  a  dammed-up  torrent,  it  will 
oversweep  its  confines  and  force  a  path  to  happiness. 
Isaac  was  long  undecided  what  course  to  pursue. 
Finally  he  could  brook  delay  no  longer. 

"  Lena,  my  beloved,"  he  whispered  one  day,  as  they 
walked  through  the  shaded  glen  near  the  village,  "  let 
us  go  to  America !  There  the  Jew  is  free;  there  the  law 
will  not  step  in  and  forbid  our  happiness.  They  say  it 
is  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  and  fortunes  are 
made  in  a  year.  Shall  we  go,  my  heart's  beloved  ?  " 

Lena  thought  of  the  scenes  of  her  happy  childhood, 
of  her  sorrowing  parents,  to  whom  she  would  have  to  bid 
farewell  forever;  then,  wiping  away  her  tears,  she  looked 
bravely  into  the  eyes  of  her  betrothed  and  answered : 

"  I  am  ready,  Isaac  dear ;  let  us  go." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  in  spite  of  old  Schwartz's 
feeble  remonstrances,  and  in  spite  of  the  short-lived  ob- 
jections of  Lena's  parents,  Isaac  and  his  bride  packed 
up  a  modest  outfit,  were  secretly  married  by  the  Rabbi, 
and,  bidding  their  friends  farewell,  set  sail  for  America. 

A  father's  blessing,  some  well-meant  advice,  and  a  few 
hundred  thalers  of  the  old  man's  hard-earned  and  care- 
fully saved  money,  accompanied  the  happy  couple  on 
their  momentous  journey.  Four  long  years  had  passed 
since  then.  The  money  was  dissipated,  the  blessing  had 
failed  to  influence  the  wanderers'  destinies,  nought  re- 
mained but  the  recollection  of  the  father's  advice,  and  a 
firm  adherence  to  the  minutest  ceremonial  of  Judaism. 

On  their  arrival  in  America,  Isaac  discovered  that  his 
German  was  of  little  benefit  to  him,  while  his  superfi- 


The  Shlemiel.  9 

cial  acquaintance  with  the  Hebrew  lore  was  absolutely 
useless.  The  few  hundred  thalers,  however,  were  of 
inestimable  value.  They  enabled  him  to  furnish  a  room 
for  his  wife  and  to  purchase  a  stock  of  merchandise,  and 
following  the  example  of  other  Jewish  emigrants,  he 
went  peddling  through  the  country.  Alas!  ill-luck 
attended  him  from  the  very  outset.  The  miserable  ac- 
commodations in  the  thinly  populated  regions  through 
which  lay  his  route  were  not  adapted  to  orthodox  piety, 
to  a  strict  observance  of  the  dietary  laws  imposed  upon 
the  Jews  by  their  religion.  Rather  than  break  one  of 
the  multitudinous  commands  concerning  the  clean  and 
the  unclean,  the  permitted  and  the  forbidden  in  the  mat- 
ter of  food,  the  poor  wanderer,  whose  physique  had  never 
been  robust,  under-nourished  while  he  overworked  his 
body.  A  long  and  dangerous  malady,  and  a  forcible 
detention  at  a  hospitable  farm-house,  were  the  result, 
while  Lena,  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  his  long  absence, 
pined  away  at  home.  A  month  later,  Isaac,  pale  and 
weak,  set  out  upon  his  homeward  trip.  Then,  as  though 
fate  had  not  been  sufficiently  cruel,  the  unfortunate  ped- 
dler was  waylaid  by  footpads  upon  the  highway,  and 
unceremoniously  relieved  of  his  pack  and  money.  A 
sorrowful  return  was  that  of  poor  Isaac.  His  wife 
scarcely  recognized,  in  the  haggard  and  miserable  appa- 
rition, her  luckless  husband.  Misfortune  pursued  him 
unrelentingly. 

Four  dreary  years  rolled  by,  years  of  poverty,  of 
unrequited  struggles,  and  while  the  poor  man's  family 
increased,  his  means,  his  strength  and  his  courage 
steadily  diminished.  To-day,  after  a  wearisome  search 


10  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

for  employment — to-day  Isaac  felt,  as  he  had  never  felt 
before,  the  hopeless  misery  of  his  condition.  That  word 
"Shlemiel"  harassed  him  beyond  measure.  It  implied 
what  he  had  often  told  himself,  that  he  was  a  shiftless, 
good-for-nothing,  unfortunate  being,  a  fool,  who  could 
not  make  a  living  for  wife  and  children,  a  creature  for 
whom  the  world  had  nought  but  contempt. 

Lena  tried  to  cheer  him.  She  whispered  words  of 
encouragement  and  consolation. 

"  To-morrow  will  bring  new  hope,"  she  said.  "  Per- 
haps Mr.  Blumen  may  know  of  something.  At  all 
events,  you  must  not  despair.  It  is  a  sin  to  doubt  the 
goodness  of  God." 

"I  will  try  again  to-morrow,"  was  the  husband's 
tearful  reply.  "  But  it  is  of  no  use,  no  use ! "  He 
sighed  miserably,  and  leaning  his  head  upon  his  wife's 
shoulder,  broke  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 

The  afflicted  couple  retired  for  the  night,  and  before 
long  Isaac  knew  by  Lena's  peaceful  breathing  that  she 
was  beyond  sorrow  in  the  blessed  land  of  dreams.  Isaac 
could  not  sleep.  His  well-earned  title,  "Shlemiel," 
kept  him  awake.  Tears  came  to  his  eyes  whenever  he 
muttered  the  word — tears  of  shame  at  his  deplorable 
condition,  tears  of  grief  at  his  wasted  opportunities. 
He  tried  to  recognize  a  blessing  in  his  sufferings,  but 
failed  dismally  in  the  attempt.  That  some  natures 
might  become  fond  of  poverty  and  take  it  voluntarily 
for  a  bride,  he  knew;  for  Jewish  as  well  as  ancient 
history  were  full  of  such  instances.  Did  not  Diogenes 
discard  all  comforts  and  conveniences  of  life,  and  make 
his  home  in  a  cask  ?  Did  not  Epaminondas  refuse  the 


The  Shlemiel.  11 

adulation  of  a  nation,  the  proffered  wealth  of  a  grateful 
people,  and  voluntarily  lead  a  life  of  self-denial  and 
want?  And  the  great  Rabbis  in  Israel — their  name 
was  legion — did  they  not  prefer  the  acquisition  of  learn- 
ing to  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  and  lead  for  the 
most  part  the  simple  life  of  ascetics,  voluntarily  espous- 
ing poverty  as  the  means  of  more  surely  leading  a  life 
of  purity?  Such  abnegation,  such  a  sacrifice  of  bodily 
comfort  for  spiritual  welfare,  found  no  sympathy  in 
Isaac's  heart.  His  nature  craved  after  the  material. 
The  fortunes  of  his  fellow-Israelites,  many  of  them  less 
generously  endowed  with  mental  advantages  than  him- 
self, threw  his  own  misery  into  greater  relief.  He 
yearned  for  comfort  for  his  wife  and  babes.  He  felt 
within  himself  the  ability  to  conquer  adversity  if  he 
had  but  a  chance.  His  ability,  his  talents,  were  not 
appreciated.  His  shabby  attire,  out  at  elbows  and 
at  toes,  were  to  most  people  an  indication  of  his 
worthlessness.  No  one  believed  in  him,  no  one 
extended  a  helping  hand.  Hope  itself  was  well  nigh 
extinct. 

Suddenly  he  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed.  Hope  revived ! 
An  idea — a  monstrous,  wild,  silly  idea — had  entered 
his  head.  At  first  he  rejected  it;  but  the  more  he 
reflected,  the  more  reasonable  it  became.  All  night 
long  he  debated  with  himself,  viewing  the  matter  in 
every  conceivable  light,  impartially  weighing  the  pros 
and  cons ;  and  when  morning  dawned  his  mind  was 
fully  made  up.  Away  with  indecision !  He  would 
carry  out  the  plan.  He  would  be  a  "  Shlemiel "  no 
longer. 


12  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"Lena,  are  you  awake?"  he  cried,  when  at  length 
day  dawned. 

"Yes;  what  is  it?" 

"  I  have  an  inspiration.     My  fortune  is  made." 

Lena  looked  at  her  husband  somewhat  skeptically. 

"  I  am  going  out  \Yest  to  California  to  dig  for  gold." 

"  Isaac,  are  you  crazy  ?" 

"  No.  I  have  come  to  my  senses  at  last.  Sam  John- 
son, our  neighbor,  came  back  from  California  last  month 
a  rich  man.  Since  then  the  gold  fever  has  been  grow- 
ing every  day.  Twenty  men  left  the  city  last  Monday 
for  the  gold-fields,  and  while  I  was  down  town  yester- 
day I  heard  of  another  party  of  dissatisfied  men  who 
are  going  out  next  week  to  try  their  luck.  I  shall 
join  them,  and  not  come  back  until  my  fortune  is 
made.  We  shall  be  rich,  Lena — we  shall  be  rich  !" 

Isaac  hugged  his  wife  in  a  transport  of  happiness, 
and  poured  into  her  eager  but  incredulous  ear  all  his 
wonderful  and  Utopian  schemes  for  amassing  wealth. 
Failure  seemed  impossible. 

"  And  what  will  become  of  me  and  the  children  in 
the  meantime?"  asked  Lena,  when  her  husband  had 
exhausted  his  eloquence. 

Isaac's  face  fell.  In  his  imaginary  search  for  gold 
he  had  not  once  thought  of  his  wife  and  babes  neglected 
at  home.  His  glorious  illusions  faded  before  his  eyes. 
There  was  no  escaping  fate.  He  would  remain  a 
"  Shlemiel "  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

But  Lena  had  by  this  time  become  infected  with  her 
husband's  enthusiasm.  This  was  the  year  of  1850, 
shortly  after  America  had  been  inflamed  by  the  won- 


The  Shlemiel.  13 

derful  reports  of  exhaustless  gold  mines  in  California. 
Hundreds  of  hardy  pioneers  had  sought  that  far-off 
El  Dorado,  and  hundreds  of  others  were  on  their  way 
to  the  land  where,  according  to  report,  the  rich,  shining 
metal  cropped  invitingly  out  of  every  rock.  In  her 
mind's  eye  Lena  saw  her  husband  returning,  tottering 
under  the  weight  of  a  huge  sack  of  gold.  While  Isaac 
had  unfolded  his  wonderful  ideas,  the  wretched  room  in 
which  they  lay  appeared  to  brighten  and  to  shine  re- 
splendently  under  the  influence  of  their  auriferous  dream. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,  my  wife !"  cried  Isaac,  pas- 
sionately. "  I  will  remain  with  you  I" 

It  was  now  Lena's  turn  to  plead. 

"  It  was  a  great  idea,  a  true  inspiration,  my  dear," 
she  said.  "God  does  not  give  wise  counsels  for  us  to 
reject  them.  Go  out  West  and  try  your  luck.  It  will 
be  hard  for  me  and  the  children,  but  we  will  bear  it, 
with  God's  help." 

"  But  you  would  starve  in  the  meantime." 

"  No ;  I  will  make  my  living.  Perhaps  I  shall  go 
over  to  Mrs.  Franzman.  She  is  busy  in  her  shop  all 
day,  and  needs  some  one  to  do  her  housework.  She 
told  me  so  yesterday.  I  am  not  afraid  of  work,  and 
the  room  which  is  large  enough  for  me  will  also  hold 
Joe  and  Rose." 

"And  the  money  for  the  trip !"  Isaac  exclaimed. 

Again  the  faces  of  the  unfortunate  couple  fell. 

"I  had  forgotten  about  that.  It  will  cost  quite  a 
fortune  to  go  out  West." 

"Go  to  Rabbi  Kauffman.  Perhaps  he  can  get  the 
money  for  you." 


14  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Lena,  you  have  a  great  mind.  Rabbi  Kanffman 
was  a  friend  of  father's,  and  I  know  he  will  do  what 
he  can  for  me." 

Isaac  arose  and  made  his  toilet.  His  hands  trembled 
so  with  excitement  that  he  could  hardly  dress,  and  when 
he  began  to  put  on  his  phylacteries,  without  which  no 
pious  Hebrew  says  his  morning  prayers,  he  got  them 
hopelessly  tangled  about  his  arm.  At  length  they  were 
satisfactorily  adjusted,  and  facing  the  east,  he  chanted  a 
prayer  in  a  sing-song  voice.  "  Lead  us  back  to  Pales- 
tine, the  promised  land,"  was  the  burden  of  his  chant ; 
but,  though  he  looked  towards  the  East,  his  thoughts 
were  in  the  far,  unknown  West,  and  while  his  lips 
muttered  the  talismanic  word,  "Jerusalem,"  his  spirit 
smilingly  surveyed  the  golden  hills  of  California* 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    FUND. 

"  From  the  prayer  of  want  and  plaint  of  woe, 

Oh,  never,  never  turn  away  thine  ear ! 
Forlorn  in  this  bleak  wilderness  below, 
Ah,  what  were  man,  should  heaven  refuse  to  hear !" 

— Beatti. 

As  EAELY  as  was  consistent  with  social  etiquette  (that 
much-abused  term),  Isaac  called  on  the  Rabbi,  Israel 
Kauffrnan.  He  found  that  worthy  gentleman  at  break- 
fast with  his  wife  and  seven  children,  ranging  in  age 
from  ten  years  down  to  the  baby  in  a  high  chair. 

"Sholem  olekem"  (peace  to  you),  cried  the  Rabbi, 
hospitably,  when  his  visitor  appeared  at  the  door. 
"  Come  right  in." 

It  was  a  modest  room  into  which  Isaac  entered,  but 
what  a  delightful  contrast  to  his  own  bleak  apartment ! 
Here  all  was  cheerful,  and  the  very  wall  paper,  with  its 
large,  old-fashioned  garlands  of  impossible  flowers, 
breathed  contentment.  The  furniture  was  old  and 
scanty,  and  there  were  no  curtains  at  the  windows,  but 
a  few  pictures  of  religious  subjects,  such  as  a  fanciful 
restoration  of  Solomon's  Temple  and  a  fine  bust  por- 
trait of  Moses,  formed  out  of  the  words  of  Genesis,  in 
Hebrew,  gave  a  quaint  charm  to  the  walls.  A  turkey 
red  cover  over  the  dining-table  brightened  the  place 

15 


16  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

wonderfully,  and  on  the  sideboard  stood  an  abundance 
of  old  silver,  heirlooms  of  the  Rabbi's  family,  which  at 
once  lifted  the  owner  out  of  any  suspicion  of  poverty 
and  gave  him  a  certain  standing  in  the  community  as  a 
man  of  tangible  means.  The  Rabbi  himself  deserves 
more  than  a  passing  notice.  He  was  a  tall,  thin  man, 
of  impressive  appearance,  whose  hair  and  long  beard 
were  beginning  to  turn  gray  with  the  bleaching  influence 
of  time.  There  was  little  suggestive  of  the  Hebrew  in 
his  face ;  no  distinctly  rabbinical  lines.  His  nose  was 
inclined  to  be  aquiline ;  his  eyes  beamed  with  good 
humor,  and  his  well-shaped  lips  were  rarely  without  a 
benignant  smile.  In  the  old  country  Mr.  Kauffman 
had  been  a  Rabbi  in  a  small  and  uninfl uential  town,  and, 
realizing  the  growing  importance  of  America  as  a 
refuge  for  persecuted  Judaism,  he  had  wisely  transferred 
his  family  and  his  allegiance  to  the  new  world. 

His  opinions,  while  inclining  to  orthodoxy,  were 
tolerant.  He  believed  in  deed  as  superior  to  creed,  and 
in  his  daily  intercourse  with  the  world  endeavored  to 
hold  up  the  Jew  as  a  man  worthy  of  the  world's 
respect. 

His  wife  was  an  estimable,  matronly  little  woman, 
indefatigable  in  doing  good,  the  embodiment  of  charity, 
and  an  ardent  admirer  of  her  husband's  every  word 
and  action. 

"  Pardon,  if  I  interrupt !  "  said  Schwartz,  nervously, 
speaking  in  German,  as  was  his  wont  with  his  fellow 
Israelites ;  "  but  I  wanted — " 

"  Have  you  breakfasted  yet  ?  "  interrupted  the  Rabbi, 
noting  the  other's  half-starved  appearance. 


The  Fund.  17 

"Yes;  that  is  to  say— " 

"  Even  if  you  have  broken  your  fust,  a  cup  of  coffee 
will  not  be  amiss.  Come  and  join  us." 

"  Norah,"  called  Mrs.  Kauffman  to  the  servant  in 
the  kitchen,  "  bring  a  plate  and  a  cup  and  saucer.  Ben, 
move  up  and  bring  a  chair.  There,  Mr.  Schwartz,  sit 
down,  and  don't  be  bashful." 

When  a  plate  appeared,  it  was  generously  filled  with 
edibles,  and  for  fifteen  minutes  Schwartz  was  so  con- 
genially occupied  that  he  forgot  the  immediate  object 
of  his  visit. 

"  My,  don't  he  eat  a  lot!"  said  Ben,  with  a  chuckle, 
to  his  brother  Sol. 

"  Hush !  "  whispered  his  father ;  and,  as  if  to  eradi- 
cate the  painful  impression  of  the  remark,  he  said  to 
his  guest,  "  You  seem  to  enjoy  the  cake.  Let  me  help 
you  to  another  portion.  My  wife  is  an  expert  at  bak- 
ing. She  hasn't  her  equaL" 

"  Perhaps  your  wife  would  like  a  piece,"  said  Mrs. 
Kauffman,  who  knew  how  seldom  dainties  found  their 
way  into  the  Schwartz  household.  "  Ben,  get  a  piece 
of  paper." 

And,  while  Ben  rummaged  the  cupboard  for  an  old 
newspaper,  Mrs.  Kauffman  cut  the  cake  in  half,  and 
supplemented  the  slice  with  a  half-dozen  apples  from 
the  sideboard.  Isaac's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  of 
gratitude. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  he  said.  "  Lena  and  the  children 
will  enjoy  it." 

After  the  meal  had  ended  the  Rabbi  conducted  his 
guest  to  the  parlor.  It  was  a  small  room,  as  old-fash- 
2 


18  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

ioned  as  was  the  dining-room.  One  wall  was  com- 
pletely covered  with  an  array  of  old  books  and  parch- 
ments, black  with  age  and  assiduous  handling.  The 
morning  sun  shone  in  through  the  daintily-hung  cur- 
tains, and  the  old  furniture  glowed  with  cheer. 

"  Sit  down,  Schwartz,"  said  the  Rabbi,  moving  a  red- 
covered  easy-chair  to  the  table  for  his  guest,  while  he 
took  a  seat  opposite.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

A  good  meal  at  the  outset  of  his  quest  appeared  to 
Schwartz  as  an  excellent  augury,  and  he  lost  no  time  in 
acquainting  the  Rabbi  with  his  projects,  becoming  elo- 
quent as  he  dwelt  upon  the  certainty  of  success. 

The  latter  said  not  a  word,  but  stroked  his  beard 
thoughtfully  until  his  guest  had  quite  finished. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  asked  Isaac,  with 
some  trepidation. 

"  Do  you  want  my  candid  opinion  ?  Well,  then,  I 
do  not  believe  you  are  the  man  for  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  innumerable  hardships  will  beset  you.  It 
is  a  life  which  requires  a  robust  constitution,  steady 
nerves  and  indomitable  will-power,  and  I  am  afraid 
you  do  not  possess  these  attributes." 

u  I  see  you,  too,  consider  me  a  Shlemiel,"  cried  the 
poor  fellow,  despondently,  his  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
Shlemiel.  You  are  in  momentary  hard  luck,  but  when 
Opportunity  knocks  at  your  door,  I  believe  she  will  find 
you  ready  to  admit  her." 

"  Well,  then,  this  is  my  opportunity !  "  Schwartz 
arose,  with  a  feeling  akin  to  exaltation,  as  he  spoke. 


The  Fund.  19 

"  I  will  be  a  Shlemiel  no  longer.  I  may  be  physically 
weak,  but  I  have  a  stout  heart,  and  the  recollection  of 
my  starving  wife  and  babies  will  spur  me  on." 

"  But  think  of  the  dangers  and  hardships." 

"  Slow  starvation  is  harder." 

"  Suppose  you  find  no  gold  ?  " 

"  Then  I  am  no  worse  off  than  at  present.  Am  I 
not  reduced  to  beggary  ?  There  is  gold  in  abundance 
out  there,  and  I  will  find  it." 

"  But  the  money  for  the  trip  ?  "  cried  the  Rabbi,  see- 
ing that  further  remonstrance  was  useless. 

"  Ah  !  there's  the  difficulty.  That  is  what  I  came 
to  see  you  about." 

"  But,  my  dear  Schwartz,  I  can't  afford  to — " 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  interrupted  Schwartz ;  "  but 
you  might  go  to  the  prominent  Jews  in  town  and  collect 
money  enough  to  send  me  to  California.  I  cannot  ask 
them  myself;  it  would  seem  too  much  like  begging.  See, 
Rabbi,  I  was  once  as  well  off  as  any  of  these  men,  and 
it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  to  ask  them  for  money.  Will 
you  do  it  for  me  ?  They  will  never  lose  a  penny  of  it. 
It  is  a  loan  which  I  will  repay  tenfold." 

"It  is  a  thankless  job,  but  I  will  try,"  said  Mr. 
Kauffman,  reluctantly. 

"  Thank  you  !  "Will  you  do  it  at  once  ?  The  matter 
is  urgent.  A  party  of  prospectors  will  leave  here  next 
Tuesday,  and  I  should  like  to  go  with  them." 

The  Rabbi  promised,  and  Isaac  in  his  joy  kissed  the 
good  man's  hand. 

"  Don't  forget  the  cake  for  your  wife,"  he  cried,  good 
humoredly,  "  and  come  this  evening  for  your  answer." 


20  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

After  Schwartz  had  gone,  the  Rabbi  put  on  his  hat,  a 
tall,  silk  chimney-pot,  invariably  brushed  against  the 
grain,  without  which  the  pastor  was  never  seen  upon  his 
errands  of  mercy,  and  hastened  to  Cedar  Street  to  tempt 
fortune  in  Schwartz's  behalf. 

Thither  we  will  accompany  him  and  incidentally  be- 
come acquainted  with  half  a  dozen  of  the  most  import- 
ant members  of  his  flock.  And  here  the  chronicler  pauses 
to  impress  upon  the  reader  the  fact  that  he  will  not  be 
led  into  palaces  of  gilded  splendor  or  gardens  of  bril- 
liant hue.  He  will  not  mingle  with  lords  of  lofty  line- 
age, or  with  bejeweled  ladies  of  stately  mien.  Were  my 
characters  of  my  own  choosing,  I  would  select  the  most 
unexceptional  heroes  and  heroines  to  carry  out  my  plans, 
endow  them  with  every  grace  and  virtue,  and  create  an 
environment  so  perfect  that  this  workaday  world  of  ours 
would  blush  at  its  surroundings  in  comparison.  I  must 
be  satisfied,  alas,  to  relate  a  simple  story  about  simple 
folk  in  a  simple  manner,  and  if  the  characters  are  coarse 
and  the  details  commonplace,  they  are  none  the  less  a 
reflection  of  actualities  ungilded  by  the  glamor  of  an 
exalted  imagination. 

My  brush  must  be  content  to  paint  a  picture 
of  unassuming  people,  with  faults  and  virtues,  serious 
shortcomings  and  sterling  qualities,  people  who  live, 
breathe  and  exercise  their  influence  in  this  world,  and 
whom,  though  the  world  may  misunderstand,  it  must 
perforce  honor  for  their  pure  and  charitable  lives  and 
their  lofty  ideals. 

Do  not  imagine,  however,  that  these  simple  folk  lack 
a  noble  ancestry. 


The  Fund.  21 

Many  of  them  have  a  pedigree  which  would  dim  the 
lustre  of  the  proudest  descendant  of  May  Flower  Pil- 
grims, for  it  goes  back  to  the  great  King  David,  the 
Anointed  of  God.  Here  is  a  gray-bearded  patriarch, 
who,  in  spite  of  his  poverty,  blesses  his  co-religionists  in 
the  synagogue  every  festival,  and  who  can  trace  his  an- 
cestry back  in  an  unbroken  line  to  Aaron;  the  first  High 
Priest,  whose  family  God  ordained  to  be  priests  forever 
in  the  house  of  Israel.  But  he  is  not  conceited  on  that 
account,  though  he  is  a  little  proud  of  his  family  ties. 
Some  philosopher  has  wisely  said  that  a  man  who  boasts 
of  his  ancestors,  and  lays  his  claims  for  consideration  on 
their  deeds,  is  like  a  growing  potato — the  best  of  him  is 
under  ground. 

The  stream  of  Jewish  immigration  to  this  country  in 
1850  had  not  yet  assumed  the  importance  it  acquired  in 
later  years.  A  small  number  of  Hebrews  had  settled 
in  America  long  before  the  Revolution,  and  were  com- 
fortably endowed  with  the  world's  goods  and  even  prom- 
inent in  commercial  affairs. 

There  were  prosperous  colonies  of  Sephardim  (Jews 
of  Spanish  descent)  in  nearly  all  of  the  eastern  cities  at 
the  beginning  of  the  century.  It  was  not,  however,  until 
1830  that  considerable  numbers  of  German  Jews,  driven 
from  their  native  land  by  bigotry  and  intolerance,  came 
to  America  to  seek  a  haven  of  rest  and  security.  The 
revolution  of  1848,  with  its  attendant  excesses,  drove 
still  more  Jews  from  Germany's  borders,  and  at  the 
time  our  story  opens  there  were  numerous  thrifty,  indus- 
trious and  intelligent  Israelites  in  all  of  the  principal 
towns  of  the  new  world — Israelites  who,  coming  here 


22  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

for  the  most  part  poor,  friendless  and  ignorant  of  the 
language,  strove  pluckily  onward  until  they  became 
leaders  in  the  world  of  commerce  and  of  finance,  a  bless- 
ing to  the  land  of  their  adoption. 

The  town  of  B numbered  about  eight  hundred 

Jews  at  this  period.  Of  these  perhaps  a  fourth  were 
Sephardim,  who  viewed  with  disfavor  the  advent  of 
BO  many  uncultured  and  barbaric  Ashkanazim.  Proud 
of  their  aristocratic  descent  from  the  martyrs  of  the 
Spanish  Inquisition,  these  Sephardim  held  aloof  from  the 
unpcdigrced  newcomers,  who  differed  from  them  in 
many  ways.  They  scarcely  admitted  that  these  German 
emigrants  were  Jews,  for  did  not  their  ritual,  their  be- 
liefs, yea,  their  very  pronunciation  of  the  Holy  Tongue, 
differ  from  their  own? 

But  the  newcomers,  undaunted  by  the  frigid  recep- 
tion on  the  part  of  their  co-religionists,  pushed  manfully 
to  the  front.  They  grew  in  numbers,  in  culture,  in 
power,  and  before  long  compelled  the  Sephardim  to 
admit  that  "  All  Israel  is  one  family." 

Cedar  and  Pearl  Streets  were  the  principal  thorough- 
fares in  which  the  German  Jews  of  B had  settled. 

Cedar  Street  ran  parallel  with  the  river  and  was  the 
commercial  artery  of  the  town.  It  was  the  street  of 
shops,  one  adjoining  the  other,  as  though  to  accentuate 
the  ties  that  bound  these  wanderers  together.  Above 
many  of  the  stores  lived  the  proprietors  with  their  fami- 
lies, and  from  early  morning  until  late  at  night  the  traffic 
surged  uninterruptedly.  Enterprising  fathers  stood 
before  their  merchandise-littered  doors  and  persuaded 
the  wary  passers-by  to  enter.  Stout  mothers,  energetic 


The  Fund.  23 

sons  and  buxom  daughters  stood  on  the  inside  and 
temptingly  displayed  such  wares  as  in  their  opinion 
would  interest  the  prospective  customer.  When  the 
business  outgrew  its  narrow  quarters,  the  entire  house 
was  converted  into  an  "  Emporium  of  Fashion."  Com- 
petent clerks  succeeded  to  wife  and  children,  and  the 
family,  rising  in  the  social  scale  as  it  rose  in  affluence, 
moved  into  Pearl  Street,  where  more  commodious  dwell- 
ings housed  them. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  minor  streets  in  which 
Israelites  dwelt,  but  to  be  in  business  on  Cedar  Street 
and  to  reside  on  Pearl  Street  was  in  itself  a  title  to  dis- 
tinction. 

The  indigent  Jews,  of  whom,  like  our  poor  Isaac 
Schwartz,  there  were  a  dozen  or  more  families,  lived  with 
their  equally  poor  Christian  brethren  several  blocks  far- 
ther south,  on  Oak'  Street.  Here  bare  and  dismal  quar- 
ters, in  tottering  and  insalubrious  buildings,  could  be 
rented  for  a  trifle,  and  here  poverty  stalked  by  day  and 
misery  watched  by  night,  and  joy  was  a  stranger  to  the 
inhabitants.  On  Charlotte  Street,  around  the  corner 
from  Pearl,  stood  the  Ashkanazim  Synagogue,  an  un- 
pretentious structure,  formerly  used  as  a  warehouse,  but 
remodeled  by  the  aid  of  a  stucco  front  and  painted  win- 
dows into  a  very  respectable-looking  house  of  worship. 
Rabbi  Kauffman  lived  in  a  dwelling  immediately  ad- 
joining. He  was  the  spiritual  adviser  of  the  German 
colony,  and  while  not  a  man  of  profound  erudition  or 
special  eloquence,  he  was  beloved  and  revered  by  his 
congregation. 

The  Sephardim,  or,  as  they  preferred  to  call  them- 


24  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

selves,  the  "Portuguese  Jews,"  had  their  own  syna- 
gogue in  a  more  aristocratic  section  of  the  town. 

In  spite  of  the  early  hour,  the  streets  were  teeming 
with  people,  for  it  was  market  day,  and  the  surrounding 
country  had  sent  its  quota  of  traffic.  As  the  Rabbi 
passed  along  the  street  he  was  greeted  by  salutations 
from  every  door,  for  every  man,  woman  and  child  knew 
and  loved  the  old  gentleman.  He  declined  all  over- 
tures to  come  in  and  talk  until  he  reached  the  store 
of  Chaim  Rosenheira,  and  there  he  entered. 

As  Parnass  (president)  of  the  congregation  and  a 
prominent  merchant,  Mr.  Rosenheim  was  a  man  of 
great  importance  in  the  community.  The  first  charac- 
teristic which  struck  one  in  the  gentleman's  face  was  its 
air  of  good  humor  ajad  contentment.  A  stout,  globe- 
like  head,  surmounting  a  stouter  body,  the  whole  sup- 
ported by  short  and  sturdy  legs ;  such  was  his  person- 
ality. His  nose  was  perhaps  the  jolliest  feature  of  his 
face,  and  peeped  merrily  from  between  two  twinkling 
blue  eyes,  whose  utility  was  reinforced  by  a  pair  of 
heavy-rimmed  gold  spectacles.  His  hair  was  gray, 
almost  white,  and  his  face  was  innocent  of  beard,  except 
for  an  inch  of  white  whisker  on  each  ruddy  cheek.  His 
position  as  president  and  his  standing  as  a  well-to-do 
clothing  dealer  gave  him  a  certain  sense  of  dignity, 
wjiich  he  endeavored  to  display  in  his  attitude  and 
bearing.  From  an  educational  standpoint  he  was  sadly 
deficient.  He  had  not  drunk  deep  at  the  Pierian  spring. 
His  English,  while  fairly  accurate  grammatically,  was 
by  no  means  perfect ;  but  of  this  he  remained  in  bliss- 
ful ignorance.  He  had  never  succeeded  in  adapting  his 


The  Fund.  25 

Teutonic  tongue  to  the  pronunciation  of  the  "  th,"  which 
he  usually  pronounced  hard,  and  his  "  w "  partook  of 
the  nature  of  "  v."  His  important  utterances  usually 
began  with  "  I  tell  you  vot  it  is,"  and  most  arguments 
were  clinched  by  a  quotation,  more  or  less  accurate, 
from  the  Talmud. 

He  was  a  whole-souled,  energetic,  charitable  man, 
who  by  sheer  force  of  will  power  had  risen  from  pov- 
erty to  affluence,  from  obscurity  to  influence. 

Mr.  Rosenheim  was  waiting  on  a  customer,  a  wea- 
zened little  Irish  woman,  holding  an  overgrown  boy  of 
twelve  by  the  hand. 

"  Dis  is  a  boutiful  suit,  madam,"  he  said,  surveying 
it  fondly,  "  and  yust  de  fit." 

" Phat's  the  price  of  it?" 

"  It  ought  to  bring  ten  dollars,  but  you  can  have  it 
for  six." 

"Do  yez  t'iuk  Oi'm  a  millionaire?"  exclaimed  the 
lady,  indignantly.  "Show  me  a  suit  for  about  foor 
dollars." 

Mr.  Rosenheim  was  sorely  pressed  to  find  a  suit  at 
this  price.  He  rummaged  through  innumerable  shelves, 
until  he  finally  discovered  a  combination  of  coat,  pants 
and  vest,  which  had  long  reposed,  unwept,  unhon- 
ored  and  unsung,  in  a  corner.  It  was  a  cheap  suit, 
printed  in  an  ugly  mixture  of  green,  yellow  and  black, 
faded  in  streaks,  and  its  garishness  toned  down  by  a 
generous  sprinkling  of  dust.  Time  was  when  this  suit 
would  have  commanded  at  least  eight  dollars;  but, 
having  outlived  its  pristine  glory,  Mr.  Rosenheim  re- 
luctantly resigned  himself  to  selling  it  as  a  bargain. 


26  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"Here  is  someding  dot  vill  please  you,"  he  said, 
trying  the  coat  on  the  boy.  The  sleeves  were  a  little 
short,  but  that  could  be  remedied. 

"Oi  loike  the  color  av  thot,"  said  the  lady,  in  whom 
the  green  awakened  patriotic  sentiments;  "but  Oi'm 
afeard  th'  moths  '11  get  inter  th'  goods." 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am !"  responded  Rosenheim,  with  an 
emphatic  gesture  of  negation.  "  If  any  moths  get  in 
dot  suit,  dey  starve  to  death  !" 

11  Is  thot  so  ?"  asked  the  lady,  but  half  convinced. 

"  It's  true,  ma'am.  Besides,  dot  green  color  is  Paris 
green,  and  is  warranted  to  kill  any  moths  vot  ain't 
already  starved.  If  you  find  any  moths,  yust  bring 
back  dot  suit  and  get  your  money  again." 

"  How  mooch  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Four  dollars,  ma'am,"  responded  Rosenheim,  rub- 
bing his  hands  in -expectation. 

"  Oi'll  give  yez  foor  an'  a  half,  an'  not  a  cint  more," 
replied  the  lady,  with  an  assumption  of  stern  inflexi- 
bility. 

"Vy,  I  only  asked  you  four  dollars,  ma'am,"  said 
the  merchant,  so  surprised  that  for  a  moment  he  lost 
sight  of  his  advantage. 

"  Aw  !  was  it  foor  dollars  yez  said  ?  Will  thin  Oi'll 
give  yez  t'ree  an'  a  half,  an'  thot's  th'  best." 

But  Rosenheim  was  obdurate  and  won  the  day.  The 
lady  slowly  produced  four  dollars,  which  he  hastily  put 
into  the  money-drawer,  as  though  fearing  a  reconsidera- 
tion of  the  transaction ;  and  while  Izzy,  his  son,  a 
promising  young  man  of  nineteen,  wrapped  up  the 
bundle,  Rosenheim  turned  to  the  amused  Rabbi. 


The  Fund.  27 

"  How  are  you  ?"  he  asked,  shaking  his  visitor's  hand 
vigorously. 

"  Well,  thank  you,"  answered  the  Eabbi.  "  It  must 
tax  your  ingenuity  considerably  to  sell  clothing." 

"  Oh,  I  should  t'ink  so  !"  cried  the  merchant,  sitting 
on  a  counter  and  waving  the  Rabbi  to  a  stool.  "  You 
t'ink  maybe  you  have  trouble  in  writing  dose  sermons 
you  make  on  a  '  Shabbos,'  eh  ?  Yell,  I  tell  you  vot  it  is : 
it  takes  more  ingenooidy  to  sell  a  suit  of  clothes  den  it 
does  to  write  a  speech.  And  den  it  takes  twice  de 
trouble  to  collect  de  money  after  you  trust  out  de 
goods." 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  trust,"  said  the  Rabbi,  point- 
ing to  several  large  signs  adorning  the  walls,  which 
bore  such  legends  as  "  Old  Trust  is  dead ;  poor  pay 
killed  him,"  "  We  trust  in  God  and  sell  for  cash,"  etc. 

"Dot's  all  talk.  If  I  didn't  trust,  Jake  Bergthal 
vould  do  all  de  business.  Vot  does  de  Talmud  say  ? 
Hay&m  Katzer  dober.  Veil,  vot's  de  difference  vot  de 
Talmud  says?  It  means,  'Time  is  money.'  Dot  is  de 
reason  so  many  people  buy  on  time,  I  suppose." 

Mr.  Rosenheim's  knowledge  of  the  Talmud  was 
fragmentary,  yet  he  constantly  quoted  such  scraps  as 
occurred  to  his  memory,  usually  getting  as  far  as  the 
first  two  or  three  words,  and  then  continuing  in  a 
damaged  vernacular.  He  handed  the  Rabbi  a  cigar 
and  lit  one  himself. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Kauffman,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  vot  can 
I  do  for  you  ?" 

Thereupon  Mr.  Kauffman  explained  his  errand,  while 
the  merchant  listened  incredulously. 


28  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"Vot!"  he  cried,  at  length;  "Schwartz  go  to  Cali- 
fornia to  find  gold  ?  Dot's  a  good  joke !  Some  men 
are  not  satisfied  to  stay  at  de  foot  of  de  ladder,  but  dey 
want  to  go  down  still  lower." 

"  Poor  Schwartz  is  so  badly  off  that  he  can't  get  any 
lower,"  said  the  Rabbi,  in  a  tone  of  genuine  commisera- 
tion. 

"  He  is  '  Meshugga '  (  crazy).  Vot  does  he  know 
about  California  ?  Vy,  it  dakes  a  gold  mine  to  get  out 
dere.  It  must  be  nearly  a  thousand  miles.  I  tell  you 
vot  it  is :  de  fool-killer  is  getting  so  far  behind  in  his 
vork  dot  he  vill  have  to  vork  on  'Shabbos'  to  catch 
up." 

"  I  thought  as  you  did  at  first,"  replied  the  Rabbi ; 
"  but  unless  we  do  this  for  Schwartz,  he  and  his  family 
are  apt  to  become  a  charge  on  the  congregation.  He 
may  come  back  a  rich  man."  And  the  Rabbi,  who  was 
now  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  practicability  of  the 
plan,  continued  to  argue  until  Rosenheim  finally  ad- 
mitted : 

"Dere  is  nodding  more  uncertain  den  a  doubtful 
t'ing,  und  maybe  it  is  a  good  idea,  after  all." 

"  And  how  much  will  you  give  ?  Only  as  a  loan, 
you  know." 

"  How  mooch  vill  it  take  ?  " 

"  It  may  take  a  hundred  dollars,"  said  the  Rabbi, 
whose  own  ideas  on  the  subject  were  indefinite. 

"  Veil,  put  me  down  for  one  of  de  noughts,"  and 
Rosenheim  laughed  at  his  own  sense  of  humor. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  the  Rabbi,  disappointed. 

"  No ;  put  a  one  in  front  of  it.     Here  are  ten  dollars 


The  Fund.  29 

— never  mind  de  t'anks  !  Come  around  to  see  us  soon. 
My  wife  was  complaining  of  your  lack  of  sociability." 

And  he  bowed  the  Rabbi  out. 

Mr.  Kauffman  next  called  on  Mr.  Solomon  Basch, 
who  kept  a  dry  goods  and  notion  store,  three  doors  far- 
ther down  the  street.  In  spite  of  the  chilly  atmosphere, 
Mr.  Basch  stood  on  the  pavement  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
alert  to  grasp  a  chance  customer.  He  deferentially 
escorted  the  Rabbi  in-doors.  Mrs.  Basch  was  sitting 
within  the  shop,  knitting  a  wool  bed-cover  of  aggressively 
inharmonious  colors.  She  was  a  little,  wrinkled,  sallow- 
faced  woman,  with  a  nose  that  might  have  hailed  from 
the  Emerald  Isle  instead  of  a  Bavarian  Ghetto,  and  a 
smile  that  displayed  an  elaborate  set  of  sparkling  teeth, 
at  a  time  when  such  teeth  were  a  comparative  luxury  and 
rather  expensive.  She  wore  a  coal-black,  highly-polished 
"  shekel,"  or  wig,  which,  with  orthodox  Jewesses,  is  a 
badge  of  wifely  loyalty  and  virtuous  fealty  to  matri- 
monial ties.  She  was  an  energetic  little  woman,  with  a 
quick  temper,  a  wonderful  talent  for  business,  and  a 
mania  for  knitting.  Stockings,  quilts,  cushions,  covers, 
jackets,  and  a  host  of  equally  useful  articles,  of  all 
shades  and  combinations  of  hues,  grew  under  her  tire- 
less fingers  and  found  a  ready  sale ;  for,  at  that  epoch, 
machine-made  commodities  had  not  as  yet  demoralized 
the  tastes  and  demands  of  discriminating  customers. 

Her  husband  was  a  tall,  thin,  angular  individual, 
with  a  physiognomy  whose  typical  features  more  than 
compensated  Judaism  for  the  apostacy  of  his  wife's 
countenance.  He  lacked  his  wife's  ability,  and  looked 
up  to  her  spiritually,  even  while  his  superior  height 


30  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

enabled  him  to  look  down  upon  her  physically.  He 
stood  very  much  in  awe  of  his  wife's  tongue,  and  she 
made  no  secret  of  her  contempt  for  his  lack  of  energy. 

"  Good  day,  Rabbi,"  said  Mrs.  Basch,  in  German ; 
for,  in  spite  of  their  five  years'  sojourn  in  America, 
neither  husband  nor  wife  spoke  English.  "  What's  the 
news  ?  " 

"  Very  little  news,  Mrs.  Basch,"  replied  the  Rabbi, 
taking  a  chair.  "  Busy,  as  usual,  I  see." 

"  There's  always  work  to  do.     Isn't  it  pretty  ?  " 

"  Gorgeous !  "  replied  the  Rabbi,  truthfully.  "  How 
came  you  to  knit  so  many  colors  together  ?  " 

"  I  bought  the  wool  at  an  auction  sale,  and  got  it  for 
a  bargain."  Then,  turning  to  her  husband,  she  asked, 
sharply,  "  What's  all  that  noise  in  the  basement,  Solo- 
mon?" 

"  Mrs.  Schneefelder's  boys  are  playing  hide-and-seek 
in  a  lot  of  packing  boxes,"  replied  Solomon,  scenting 
trouble. 

"  Who  told  them  they  might  ?     Did  you  ?  " 

"  Well — er — they  asked  me  whether  Reuben  and  Abe 
were  down  stairs,  and  I  told  them  to  go  and  see." 

"  You  fool !  We  haven't  noise  enough  of  our  own, 
eh  ?  I  just  sent  Reuben  and  Abe  over  to  Schnee- 
felder's, in  order  to  get  rid  of  them.  Go  down  and 
tell  those  boys  to  go  home  at  once ;  and  if  they  won't 
go,  put  them  out," 

Solomon  meekly  did  as  he  was  requested.  There 
was  a  sound  of  a  scuffle  in  the  cellar,  and  soon  two 
begrimed  urchins  were  led  up  the  cellar  stairs  by  Mr. 
Basch,  who  held  persistently  to  an  ear  of  each,  and 


The  Fund.  31 

were  unceremoniously  ejected  into  the  street,  where  they 
vented  their  indignant  anger  in  howls  and  jeers. 

"  Of  course  their  mother  will  come  along  directly 
and  make  a  fuss/'  said  Mrs.  Basch,  addressing  her 
guest ;  "  but  what  do  I  care !  I  have  children  enough 
of  my  own,  without  having  the  whole  neighborhood  in 
my  cellar.  Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

The  peace-loving  Rabbi  admitted  that  she  probably 
was,  and,  without  much  circumlocution,  stated  his 
errand. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  "  Mr.  Basch,  how 
much  will  you  contribute  toward  sending  Schwartz  to 
California?" 

It  was  merely  a  delicate  compliment  on  the  Rabbi's 
part  to  appeal  to  the  husband.  Basch  was  so  surprised 
in  being  considered  in  a  matter  requiring  judgment,  that 
he  stood  dumbfounded  for  an  instant ;  then  he  meekly 
said,  "  Ask  my  wife." 

"  Not  a  cent ! "  cried  Mrs.  Basch,  in  indignation. 
"  Let  the  '  Shnorrer '  go  to  work." 

"  Pardon  me ;  it  is  to  avoid  becoming  a  '  Shnorrer ' 
that  Schwartz  wished  to  undertake  this  difficult  trip. 
After  all,  we  are  all  '  Shnorrers/  inasmuch  as  we  are 
all  dependent  on  the  bounty  of  the  Most  High,  and  it 
is  our  duty  to  help  those  less  fortunate  than  ourselves." 

"  Well,  well,  perhaps  you  are  right ;  but  what  can 
such  a  fellow  do  in  California?  Find  gold,  indeed  !" 

"  Gold  don't  always  bring  happiness,"  said  Basch, 
meekly  glancing  at  his  wife. 

"  No  ;  but  it  has  one  advantage  over  poverty.  It 
doesn't  prevent  happiness,"  replied  the  Rabbi.  "Come, 


32  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

contribute  something.  When  Schwartz  comes  back  a 
rich  man,  you  will  be  happy  to  know  you  helped  him 
to  success.  Perhaps  some  day  you  will  be  glad  to  have 
his  son  lead  your  daughter  under  the  *  chuppa '  (wed- 
ding canopy)." 

Mrs.  Basch  found  numerous  objections,  but  finally 
relented,  and,  going  to  the  cash-drawer  behind  the 
counter,  brought  out  a  dollar  in  small  specie,  which  she 
counted  slowly  and  effectively  into  the  Rabbi's  hand. 

"  May  God  requite  your  kindness,  and  may  Schwartz 
some  day  be  in  a  position  to  repay  it,"  said  the  minis- 
ter, putting  the  money  into  his  pocket. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Schneefelder  walked  into  the 
store.  She  carried  a  wicker  basket,  and  was  on  her 
way  to  do  her  marketing.  She,  too,  wore  a  "  sheitel " 
of  dark  brown,  beneath  which  a  few  straggling  gray 
locks  peeped.  Her  English,  like  that  of  Mrs.  Basch's, 
was  too  elementary  for  use,  and  the  ladies  conversed  in 
German,  picturesquely  interlarded  with  Hebrew  words. 

"  I  hope  you  ain't  l  broges '  (angry),"  said  Mrs. 
Basch,  who  thought  she  detected  a  scowl  of  ire  on  her 
friend's  face. 

"  Why  should  I  be  '  broges '  ?  "  replied  the  other, 
unsuspectingly. 

"  Because  I  just  threw  your  two  sons  out  of  my 
house." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right.  I  just  threw  your  Reuben 
and  Abe  out  of  my  back-yard.  They  were  making 
*  shtuss '  (nonsense)  with  the  cat,  and  I  couldn't  stand 
the  noise  any  longer." 

"  Well,  then  we  are  even,"  replied  Mrs.  Basch,  with 


The  Fund.  33 

suppressed  resentment,  evidently  not  at  all  pleased  at 
the  summary  treatment  accorded  her  own  offspring. 

"  Your  Abe  is  a  very  bad  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Schneefel- 
der,  with  the  air  of  positive  conviction  on  so  important 
a  subject. 

"  He  ain't  a  bit  worse  than  your  Ikey,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Basch,  with  a  tug  at  her  "  sheitel,"  a  gesture  which  usu- 
ally betokened  an  incipient  storm. 

Here  the  Rabbi,  fearing  to  be  the  witness  of  a  verbal 
duel,  waged  in  defence  of  the  respective  merits  of  the 
children,  took  his  hat  and  his  leave. 

Solomon  Basch  accompanied  him  to  the  street  and 
whispered,  when  he  was  safely  outside,  "  Tell  Schwartz 
that  I  envy  him ;  I  wish  I  could  go  with  him." 

"  And  leave  your  wife  ? "  asked  the  Rabbi,  amused. 

Basch  nodded  affirmatively,  and  stroked  his  beard 
meditatively. 

"  Yes  ! "  he  said,  at  length.  "  That  woman's  lips  are 
a  rose,  but  her  tongue  is  a  thorn." 

The  Rabbi  smiled. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  understand  women,"  he  said,  pacifi- 
cally. 

"  That's  so !  Only  a  fool  thinks  he  can  understand 
women,  and  the  only  way  to  argue  with  one  is  to  go 
away  and  not  argue  at  all.  Some  one  said  that  woman 
is  the  weaker  sex.  He  was  an  idiot.  My  wife  can 
strike  a  harder  blow  with  her  tongue  than  I  can  with 
my  fist." 

Poor  Basch  glanced  furtively  in  the  direction  of  the 
door,  started  to  say  more,  but  suddenly  relapsed  into 
silence;  while  the  Rabbi  resumed  his  visits  to  other 
3 


34  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

members  of  his  flock.  He  met  with  varying  success, 
receiving,  however,  more  liberal  responses  than  refusals. 
He  spent  some  time  in  the  store  of  Louis  Ehrlich — a 
different  type  of  merchant  from  those  whose  acquaint- 
ance we  have  just  made. 

Ehrlich  was  a  young  man  of  prepossessing  appearance 
and  address.  He  had  been  suspected  of  taking  an  active 
part  in  the  revolutionary  movement  in  Berlin  in  1848, 
and  had  been  given  a  quiet  hint  by  the  authorities  that 
his  room  was  more  desirable  than  his  company;  so  he 
emigrated  to  America.  There  his  liberty-loving  in- 
stincts found  a  fertile  field.  He  had  brought  nothing 
with  him  but  his  willing  hands,  a  clear  head  and  a  fair 
amount  of  learning,  and  in  less  than  two  years  found 
himself  the  possessor  of  a  thriving  shop  and  on  the  road 
to  a  competency.  His  first  self-imposed  task  was  to 
master  an  English  education,  and  for  this  purpose  he 
diligently  frequented  night-school  and  associated  with 
cultured  Americans.  In  appearance  Ehrlich  was  a 
broad-chested,  muscular  fellow  of  twenty-eight,  nearly 
six  feet  in  height,  with  the  erect  dignity  and  bearing  of 
a  soldier.  His  brown  hair,  reddish  moustache,  blue  eyes, 
straight  nose  and  small  features  conspired  to  make  him 
totally  unlike  the  typical  Hebrews  of  Cedar  Street.  He 
was  by  no  means  an  Antinous,  but  when  he  smiled  he 
displayed  the  beauty  which  belongs  to  an  honest,  good- 
humored,  intelligent  face.  He  dressed  neatly,  was  gen- 
erous, yet  thrifty,  and  was  thoroughly  imbued  with  the 
necessity  of  progress  in  all  things  scientific,  educational 
and  religious.  He  was  a  representative  of  a  class  of 
Jews  of  whom  thousands  came  to  this  country  at  that 


The  Fund.  35 

epoch,  and  whose  names  have  since  become  synonymous 
with  honesty,  integrity  and  thrift.  He  and  the  Rabbi 
were  staunch  friends,  each  appreciating  the  good  qualities 
of  the  other. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  mention  your  name  as 
a  new  board  member  of  the  synagogue,"  said  Mr. 
Kauifman,  after  the  first  salutation  had  passed.  "I 
hope  you  will  not  refuse  the  honor." 

"  No;  I  shall  be  glad  to  serve,  not  as  an  honor,  but  as 
a  duty.  I  have  no  idea,  however,  that  I  shall  be  elected. 
Rosenheim,  Blum  en,  and  the  rest  of  the  board  are  too 
well  acquainted  with  my  radical  views.  I'm  afraid  the 
innovations  I  would  propose  in  the  general  conduct  of 
the  synagogue  affairs  would  shock  their  sense  of  the 
eternal  fitness  of  things." 

"  On  account  of  that  very  fact,  I  shall  do  my  utmost 
to  have  you  elected.  Israel  is  fast  becoming  a  valley  of 
dry  bones,  and  it  requires  a  new  prophet  to  clothe  these 
bones  with  tissue  and  revive  them." 

"  I  admit  the  necessity,"  said  Ehrlich.  "  My  father 
was  a  pupil  of  Moses  Mendelssohn,  and  I  have  been  a 
personal  friend  of  Geiger  and  Einhorn,  so  that  it  is  not 
strange  that  some  reform  ideas  should  cling  to  me.  I  yearn 
for  the  time  when  the  excrescences  clinging  to  Israel's 
faith  shall  have  been ,, stripped  away,  and  I  believe 
America  is  the  field  in  which  Judaism  will  be  rejuvenated." 

"  Be  careful,  my  friend.  Don't  go  to  extremes.  I 
myself  believe  many  reforms  are  possible,  nay  desirable ; 
but  in  cutting  away  dead  flesh  one  is  apt  to  cut  into  the 
living  tissue  and  leave  a  wound  through  which  the 
patient  bleeds  to  death." 


36  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Never  fear,"  replied  Ehrlich.  "  I  shall  not  go  too 
far.  Let  me  but  get  on  the  board,  and  I  shall  gradually 
try  to  pave  the  way  to  a  clearer  understanding  of  Israel's 
ideals." 

"  And  what  changes  would  you  suggest  ?  "  asked  the 
pastor. 

"  I  would  first  purge  the  ritual  of  obsolete  and  anti- 
quated prayers  that  have  outgrown  their  usefulness. 
Why  should  a  man  storm  the  doors  of  heaven  for  a 
speedy  return  to  Jerusalem,  when  he  is  happy  and  pros- 
perous in  America  ?  It  is  unpatriotic.  I  would  next 
introduce  a  number  of  prayers  in  German  or  English, 
so  that  the  younger  generation,  whose  knowledge  of 
Hebrew  is  limited,  may  pray  knowingly." 

"  So  far  I  agree  with  you,"  said  the  Rabbi. 

"  I  would  make  the  services  attractive  to  the  old  and 
young  by  introducing  an  organ  and  choral  music." 

The  Rabbi  held  up  his  hands  in  horror. 

"  I  would  then,"  continued  the  young  man,  "  make 
the  worshipers  more  comfortable  by  removing  their  hats, 
the  men  more  contented  by  allowing  them  to  sit  next  to 
their  wives  and  sweethearts." 

"  Stop,  stop !  "  cried  the  Rabbi,  with  a  mixed  senti- 
ment of  amusement  and  alarm.  "  Do  you  want  to  do 
away  with  everything  that  is  sacred  ?  " 

Ehrlich  laughed.  "Did  I  frighten  you?"  he  said. 
"Only  wait;  these  things  will  come  quickly.  The 
synagogue  wants  new  blood  and  new  ideas.  Yes,  count 
on  me  as  a  board  member !  "  And  he  added,  with  a 
smile,  "  If  I  am  elected." 

The  Rabbi  started  to  leave. 


The  Fund.  37 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  the  Rabbi,  "  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten the  object  of  my  visit."  And  he  proceeded  to 
relate  the  story  of  his  protege". 

Ehrlich  listened,  amused.  "  Schwartz  has  the  proper 
spirit.  Rather  be  a  mine-owner  in  the  West  than  a 
pauper  in  the  East.  I  admire  the  man's  pluck.  Here 
is  my  contribution  towards  the  voyage,"  he  said,  hand- 
ing the  Rabbi  a  generous  sum.  "  May  he  spread  the 
name  of  Israel  through  the  Occident  and  prosper." 

"  "With  such  men  as  Ehrlich  in  the  fold,  the  name  of 
Israel  will  never  be  degraded,"  said  the  Rabbi,  when  he 
again  found  himself  on  the  sidewalk.  "  I  hope  he  will 
succeed  in  imbuing  the  pillars  of  my  congregation  with 
his  views  and  his  enthusiasm." 

Not  far  away  was  Jacob  Bergthal's  clothing  store. 
This  was  but  half  the  size  of  Rosenheim's,  but  in  the 
opinion  of  its  proprietor  was  greater  in  every  respect. 
The  sign  read,  "  Bergthal's  Mammoth  Clothing  Empo- 
rium," and  the  printed  business  cards  declared  it  to  be 
the  largest  clothing  house  in  America.  This  was  but 
Oriental  hyperbole;  nevertheless,  Bergthal  endeavored 
to  live  up  to  his  boast  by  outdoing  his  rival,  Rosen- 
heim,  whenever  possible.  Even  in  the  matter  of  lan- 
guage his  errors  were  conspicuously  greater  than  those 
of  his  competitor.  When  Bergthal  spoke  English,  the 
ground  was  fairly  strewn  with  disjointed  parts  of 
speech.  He  was  an  undersized,  wiry  little  man,  with 
prematurely  gray  hair,  a  closely-cropped  beard,  a  high, 
strident  voice  and  a  quick,  nervous  manner.  He  was 
always  carefully,  even  dandily  dressed,  and  disproved 
by  his  appearance  the  prevalent  belief  that  clothiers 


38  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

need  necessarily  wear  poor  clothes.  He  and  Rosen- 
heim  were  not  on  speaking  terms.  Time  was  when 
they  were  fast  friends,  but  even  Damon  and  Pythias 
would  have  fallen  out  had  they  been  competitors  in 
the  clothing  business.  Rosenheim,  with  his  generous 
nature  and  with  the  magnanimity  of  the  greater  man, 
harbored  no  ill  will ;  but  Bergthal,  excitable  and  sus- 
picious, saw  in  every  act  of  his  rival  a  personal  affront, 
and  resented  it  accordingly. 

As  Rabbi  Kauffman  entered,  after  carefully  stepping 
over  a  sleeping  dog  that  lay  on  the  threshold,  he  found 
Bergthal  in  the  heat  of  an  argument  with  a  customer — 
a  negative  customer — one  who  had  brought  back  an 
unsatisfactory  garment.  He  was  a  chocolate-colored 
gentleman,  of  frayed  appearance,  and  was  very  delib- 
erate in  his  speech. 

"  Yas,  sah,"  he  cried,  "jis'  as  I  don'  tole  you — I  don' 
bought  dis  yer  triangle  suit  hyar  las'  Chusday,  an'  when 
I  got  it  hum,  my  wife,  she  sez,  sez  she,  '  I  'clar'  to  gra- 
cious dis  yer  suit  am  full  of  moths !'  Now  look  a-hyar, 
boss,  I  don'  want  no  moths  in  my  close  nohow." 

Bergthal  put  a  jaunty  pair  of  eye-glasses  on  his  nose 
and  inspected  the  suit  perfunctorily. 

Finally  he  cried,  in  his  high-pitched  accents : 

"  Mine  frient,  you  didn't  bot  dot  suit  here." 

"Yas,  I  did,  sho  'nuf,  boss.  I  bot  it  right  hyar  las' 
Chusday." 

"  Un'  you  say  it  is  full  of  moths  ?" 

"Yas,  sah — dey's  several  holes  in  it." 

"  Mine  frient,  you  didn't  bot  dot  suit  from  me ;  you 
bot  it  from  Mr.  Rosenheim,  down  der  street.  He  keeps 


The  Fund.  39 

his  moths  in  his  diagonal  suits ;  I  keep  mine  always  in 
my  corduroy  pantaloons.  Everypody  knows  his  own 
bissness  best,  don'd  it  ?" 

"Yas,  sah,  I  s'pose  dey  does." 

"  How  much  you  pay  for  dem  close  ?" 

"  Eight  dollars  and  t'ree  levies,  boss." 

"  Veil,  dot  vas  cheap  enough.  Vot  vas  you  kicking 
aboud,  anyvay?  Rosenheim  didn't  charge  you  nod- 
ding for  der  moths.  Go  home  once  and  your  shtars 
t'ank  id  didn't  cost  you  ten  dollars."  And  hurriedly 
wrapping  up  the  suit,  he  bowed  the  astonished  customer 
out. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Kauffman  ?"  said  Bergthal,  when 
the  coast  was  clear. 

"Very  well,  thank  you.     How's  business?" 

"Bissness?  I'll  tell  you.  If  bissness  vasn't  any 
better  next  veek  as  it  vill  be  last  veek,  I  vas  '  me- 
chulla '  (bankrupt).  Daf  s  vat  I  hope." 

This  enigmatic  reply  rather  amused  the  Rabbi,  who 
broke  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?  Why,  I  was  just  in  at 
Rosenheim's,  and  he  assured  me  that  he  was  rushed 
with  trade,  and  was  doing  the  biggest  business  in  the 
city." 

"Rosenheim  tole  you  dot,  hey?  He  tole  you  a  lie. 
I  done  twice  so  much  bissness  as  Rosenheim  last  month, 
und  I  can  prove  it.  Rosenheim  is  a  *  shauta '  (fool). 
He  has  a  swelled  head.  You  can  tole  him  I  said  so. 
Vat  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Kauffman  ?" 

"  I  came  for  money,"  said  the  Rabbi. 

"  Sh  !     Not  so  sudden.     Bad  news  like  dot  is  like  an 


40  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

egg  vot's  soft-boiled.  It  must  be  broke  gentle.  Vot's 
der  trouble  now  ?" 

Mr.  Kauffman  told  of  Schwartz's  plans. 

"  I'll  gif  nod  a  cent !"  said  Bergthal,  before  the  other 
had  quite  finished  explaining. 

"  That's  what  Mr.  Eosenheim  said ;  but  he  finally 
gave  me  quite  a  contribution." 

"  Is  dot  so  ?"  said  Bergthal,  thoughtfully.  "  Rosen- 
heim  vas  alvays  a  bluffer.  How  much  he  gave  ?" 

"  Ten  dollars." 

Bergthal  winced ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  outdone  by 
his  hated  rival. 

"  Mr.  Kauffman,"  he  said,  pulling  a  plethoric  wallet 
from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  "  here  is  ten  dollars 
und  a  heluf.  Please  put  my  name  down  on  der  list 
before  Rosenheim's.  Bergthal's  Mammoth  Clothing 
Emporium  don't  vas  going  to  shtand  behind  dot  miser- 
able establishment  down  der  street.  No,  sir-ee  !" 

"  The  Lord  loves  a  cheerful  giver,"  said  the  Rabbi. 

"Yell,  I  guess  I  vas  so  cheerful  aboud  it  as  Rosen- 
heim.  My,  dot  man  vas  so  mean  dot  he  vould  sold  a 
pair  of  stockings  for  a  cardigan  jacket,  if  peebles  vould 
be  so  foolish  as  to  pelieve  him  !  Must  you  go  alretty  ? 
Veil,  good-by,  Rabbi !  Coom  soon  again,  ven  you  don'd 
vant  noddings." 

Left  alone,  Bergthal  rubbed  his  hands  in  glee  to 
think  how  he  had  outdone  his  rival.  At  heart  he  was 
a  generous  man,  and  had  often  pitied  Schwartz's  con- 
trary luck.  Suddenly  he  had  an  inspiration.  Bare- 
headed and  excited,  he  ran  into  the  street  and  called  the 
Rabbi  back. 


The  Fund.  41 

"Mr.  Kauffman,"  tie  said,  "has  Schwartz  a  decend 
suit  of  cloding  got  alretty  to  travel  in  ?" 

"  I  think  not,"  the  other  said.  "  When  I  saw  him 
this  morning  he  looked  rather  seedy." 

"Aha!"  Bergthal  stood  for  a  moment,  as  it  were, 
'twixt  love  and  duty,  swayed  by  the  contending  spirits 
of  parsimony  and  charity.  Then  he  said :  "  Just  tell 
Schwartz  around  here  to  come  und  get  a  suit  of  cloding. 
I  got  a  suit,  just  a  little  faded,  vot  I  gif  him  for  a 
bresend.  Mit  dot  suit  he  vill  have  'massel  and 
broche'  (luck  and  blessing)  in  der  Vest.  I  don'd 
allow  dot  rascal  Rosenheim  to  got  ahead  of  me  alretty 
— aind  it  ?  No,  sir-ee !" 

And,  with  sundry  nods  and  smiles  of  satisfaction  at 
having  a  second  time  outwitted  his  competitor,  he  re- 
entered  the  store. 

When  Schwartz  called  at  the  Kauffman  dwelling  that 
evening,  he  was  put  in  possession  of  a  sum  sufficient  to 
take  him,  if  not  to  California,  at  least  to  a  point  in  the 
West  from  which  he  would  have  little  difficulty  in 
working  his  way  to  the  desired  El  Dorado. 

The  day  for  departure  came.  Lena  and  the  children 
found  a  cordial  welcome  at  Mrs.  Franzman's.  Arrayed 
in  Bergthal's  shop-worn  suit,  his  money  securely  strapped 
in  a  belt  around  his  waist,  and  accompanied  by  Messrs. 
Kauffman,  Rosenheim,  Ehrlich,  Bergthal,  Blumen  and 
other  prominent  Israelites  to  -the  limits  of  the  town, 
Isaac  Schwartz  departed,  with  a  dozen  other  venture- 
some men,  to  the  wild  and  unknown  West. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   CRIME. 

"O,  cursed  lust  of  gold !  when  for  thy  sake 
The  fool  throws  up  his  interest  in  both  worlds ; 
First  starved  in  this,  then  damned  in  that  to  come." — Blair. 

LIFE  in  the  gold  diggings  was  not  exactly  what 
Schwartz  had  pictured  it.  His  star  was  not  yet  in 
the  ascendant,  and  the  Shlemiel  remained  a  luckless 
wight  abroad,  as  he  had  been  at  home.  After  innumera- 
ble privations  and  hardships,  the  little  band  of  pioneers 
reached  St.  Joseph  four  weeks  after  setting  out. 
Isaac's  money  was  by  this  time  exhausted,  and  he 
lacked  the  means  to  continue  his  journey  to  the  coast. 
By  doing  sundry  jobs  about  town,  however,  he  endeav- 
ored to  earn  enough  to  carry  him  onward.  He  remained 
here  for  a  month,  at  the  end  of  which  time  he  joined 
another  party  of  gold  seekers,  bound  for  the  far-off  El 
Dorado.  It  was  after  reaching  the  gold  fields  that  the 
real  hardships  began,  and  the  next  few  months  of  our 
friend's  life  were  the  unhappiest  he  had  ever  known. 
His  physical  debility,  his  extreme  sensitiveness,  his 
obtrusive  piety,  his  Jewish  characteristics,  united  to 
make  his  lot  particularly  miserable.  He  had  Angli- 
cized his  name  to  Ike  Black,  but  his  rough  and  unsym- 
pathetic companions  had,  early  in  their  association,  dub- 
bed him  "  Sheeny  Ike,"  and  the  poor  fellow,  too  frail 

42 


The  Crime.  43 

and  too  ingenuous  to  resent  their  pleasantries,  became 
the  butt  of  their  uncouth  jokes. 

His  adherence  to  the  quaint  rites  of  his  religion, 
which  he  insisted  on  following  in  spite  of  all  obstacles, 
did  much  to  excite  their  grim  humor.  They  would 
hurl  their  unseemly  jests  at  him  when  he  was  employed 
in  his  matutinal  devotions ;  would  steal  away  his  little 
Hebrew  prayer-book — a  cherished  gift  from  his  old 
father — and  delighted  in  forcing  pieces  of  forbidden 
pork  between  his  teeth.  Isaac  bore  it  meekly ;  it  would 
have  been  folly  to  rebel ;  but  the  tears  of  mortification 
flooded  his  eyes  when  he  was  alone,  and  it  was  only  the 
thought  of  his  wife  and  little  ones,  and  the  recollection 
of  the  poverty  which  had  been  his  share  at  home,  that 
fanned  the  faint  spark  of  hope  and  courage  within  him. 

He  sought  solace  in  hard  work.  There  was  suffi- 
cient of  that  on  hand.  The  neighborhood  in  which  the 
men  had  encamped  seemed  a  promising  one  at  first,  and 
they  decided  to  make  themselves  as  comfortable  as  cir- 
cumstances permitted.  Trees  were  cleared  away,  rude 
log  cabins  were  hastily  constructed,  and  a  road  was 
formed  over  the  hills  to  the  little  village,  six  miles  dis- 
tant. All  this  required  earnest  labor,  and  Isaac,  in 
spite  of  his  ailments  and  the  difficulties  which  were  con- 
stantly thrown  in  his  way,  contributed  his  full  share. 

Marvelously  picturesque  was  the  spot  in  which  these 
rough,  isolated  men  had  settled — a  spot  since  become 
famous  through  the  advertisements  of  a  trans-continental 
railway,  but  then  almost  inaccessible  to  Caucasian  ex- 
plorers. It  lay  in  a  dent  of  the  Sierras,  amidst  the 
most  luxuriant  savagery.  High  up,  on  either  hand, 


44  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

rose  huge,  conical  masses  of  turreted  and  rock-bound 
hills — giant  pyramids  set  by  nature  as  sentinels  to 
guard  the  treasures  concealed  in  the  valley  between. 
Range  after  range  stretched  in  perspective  towards  the 
north  and  south,  until,  from  sombre,  weather-beaten 
crags,  they  seemed  to  change  into  mounds  of  bluish 
mystery.  A  mountain  torrent  roared  between,  shaking 
its  sides  with  pent-up  rage,  foaming  with  eager  impa- 
tience as  it  dashed  on  over  glittering  rocks,  over  aurifer- 
ous sand,  losing  itself  finally  in  the  darkness  of  a 
primeval  forest  of  gigantic  redwood  trees,  which 
stretched  in  an  unbroken  wall  along  the  west.  No 
bright  patches  of  cultivated  fields,  no  evidences  of 
man's  dominion  were  there,  but  everywhere  wild,  un- 
tamed, mysterious  nature;  rocks  and  crags,  cascades 
and  torrents,  river  and  forest,  grandeur  and  majesty. 
Schwartz's  love  for  the  beautiful  in  nature  was  strongly 
developed.  He  detected  a  charm  in  the  most  ordinary 
view  or  trivial  phenomenon,  a  picture  in  a  tree  or  a 
sunset.  To  him  the  rugged  scenery  would  have 
brought  untold  delight,  had  it  not  been  coupled  with 
such  mental  suffering,  such  intolerable  humiliation. 
Before  many  weeks  this  majestic  spot  filled  him  with 
loathing  and  disgust. 

There  was  one  man  in  the  gang  with  which  Schwartz 
had,  through  force  of  circumstances,  associated  himself 
who  wielded  a  sinister  influence  over  him.  This  was 
Dick  Sweeny,  a  burly  desperado.  The  entire  company 
stood  in  awe  of  Sweeny,  who  exercised  his  self-insti- 
tuted authority  with  no  gentle  hand.  Sweeny  was  a 
coarse,  red-headed  fellow,  of  uncouth  speech  and  brutal 


The  Crime.  45 

aspect.  He  had  joined  the  party  on  the  road  from  St. 
Joseph,  and,  from  his  casual  knowledge  of  the  territory, 
made  himself  useful  to  the  little  baud  of  pioneers.  Of 
his  past  nothing  definite  was  known,  except  what  he 
himself  would  reveal  during  his  drunken  spells.  Then 
he  would  relate,  with  thrilling  braggadocio,  how  he  had 
been  under  sentence  for  murdering  a  man  in  St.  Louis ; 
how  he  had  broken  jail,  escaped  from  his  pursuers,  and 
come  out  West  to  seek  his  fortune.  This  fellow, 
although  tyrannical,  was  harmless  enough  when  sober ; 
but  when  intoxicated  he  became  a  fiend,  hesitating  at 
no  crime,  and  capable  of  any  excess.  He  was  drunk 
often  enough  to  become  a  terror  to  the  camp.  Towards 
Isaac  his  attitude  was  peculiar.  When  sober,  he  took 
the  poor  Hebrew  under  his  protection  against  the  other 
members  of  the  party. 

"  If  any  of  you  dog-goned  fellows  hurts  a  hair  of 
Sheeny  Ike's  head,  I'll  shoot  him  quicker'n  he  can  say 
Jack  Robinson  ! "  he  would  declare,  when  Isaac  appealed 
to  him  for  help. 

When  intoxicated,  however,  his  sympathies  under- 
went a  mysterious  change.  Then  he  would  antagonize 
our  friend  as  thoroughly  as  he  had  patronized  him 
before.  He  devised  and  perpetrated  the  most  heartless 
annoyances  upon  his  unoffending  victim. 

On  one  occasion  he  came  drunk  into  Isaac's  cabin, 
just  as  the  latter  was  winding  his  phylacteries  prepara- 
tory to  saying  his  prayers.  Sweeny  tore  the  phylac- 
teries from  the  trembling  man's  hands,  and,  throwing 
him  to  the  floor,  bound  his  arms  together  with  the 
leather  thongs  and  fastened  him  to  a  post  in  the  wall. 


46  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Now,  Jew,"  he  cried,  in  his  heavy  speech,  "  see 
whether  Jehovah  will  help  you  get  loose  ! " 

Then  he  ran  out  into  the  camp  and  brought  back  a 
half-dozen  of  his  comrades  to  witness  Ike's  plight,  and 
to  laugh  and  jeer  at  his  piteous  appeals  for  help. 

It  was  a  rough  life,  a  rough  company,  a  rough  expe- 
rience for  Isaac ;  but  he  bore  it  unflinchingly.  If  he 
could  only  find  gold  !  He  could  not  go  back  to  Lena 
without  the  wealth  he  had  promised  her. 

The  search  for  gold  was  very  disappointing.  In  spite 
of  Sweeny's  assertions  that  they  were  right  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  prolific  fields,  the  yellow  metal  failed  to 
materialize  in  paying  quantity.  They  were  anxious 
days  for  the  entire  gang.  At  times  a  miner  would 
strike  a  rich  pocket,  and  the  excitement  rose  to  fever 
heat;  but  then  weeks  would  elapse  without  another 
find  of  value.  There  was  always  a  small  quantity  of 
gold-dust  to  be  obtained  by  washing  the  sand  from  the 
river.  This,  while  it  did  not  enrich  anybody,  and 
scarcely  repaid  the  labor  bestowed  upon  it,  served  to 
keep  the  men  in  the  locality,  and  their  explorations  did 
not  extend  far  from  where  they  had  originally  pitched 
their  camp.  Our  friend  found  little  to  console  him  in 
his  harsh  surroundings.  The  hovel  on  Oak  Street, 
wretched  though  it  was,  bore  at  least  the  semblance  of 
a  home,  and  was  hallowed  by  the  presence  of  a  wife 
and  children.  Here  all  was  desolation  and  disappoint- 
ment. He  could  not  escape  the  conviction  that  he  was 
still  a  Shlemiel.  The  religious  teaching,  that  God  does 
all  things  for  the  best,  was  not  convincing  to  his  impatient 
soul.  The  fortitude,  courage  and  industry  he  displayed 


The  Crime.  47 

had  not  as  yet  led  to  any  tangible  results.  Exposed  to 
the  ribald  sport  of  the  miners,  deprived  of  the  society 
of  kindred  spirits,  distrusting  his  ability,  his  luck,  his 
very  self,  his  was  an  unfortunate  experience,  and  often, 
as  he  strolled  silently  along  the  rugged  banks  of  the 
swift-flowing  river,  vague  thoughts  of  suicide  formed  in 
his  brain. 

After  the  lapse  of  several  months  his  position  be- 
came more  bearable.  The  uncouth  miners  discovered 
in  the  meek  Jew  an  understanding,  an  intellect  superior 
to  their  own.  His  peculiarities  and  foreign  mannerisms 
were  in  a  measure  forgotten,  and,  seated  around  the  fire 
on  a  dull  evening,  they  would  listen  -by  the  hour  to  his 
stories  about  Germany,  or  hear  him  relate  anecdotes 
from  the  Talmud,  a  book  of  which  not  one  of  them 
had  ever  heard  before. 

"Ike  is  not  such  a  fool  as  he  looks,"  one  would 
say,  shaking  his  head  and  winking  at  his  comrades. 
"  He  knows  a  dern  sight  more  than  any  of  us." 

"Them  stories  of  his'n  about  the  Tallmood  sound 
kinder  like  our  stories  in  the  Testament,  with  Jesus 
left  out/'  said  another.  "What's  your  belief,  anyhow, 
Ike?" 

Then  Isaac,  not  sorry  to  vent  his  knowledge,  ex- 
pounded the  beauties  of  his  monotheistic  belief  to  his 
own  satisfaction,  if  not  to  that  of  his  hearers. 

"  Well,  pard,"  cried  one  of  the  rough  fellows,  shaking 
Ike  by  the  hand,  "  if  them  'ere  are  your  beliefs,  you 
can't  be  a  very  bad  man.  No  one  with  them  senti- 
ments could  go  very  far  wrong." 

These  discussions  on  religion,  which  became  of  fre- 


48  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

quent  occurrence,  had  a  perceptible  influence  upon  the 
miners,  and  while  they  still  vented  their  rough  humor 
upon  the  Jew,  they  treated  him  with  greater  considera- 
tion than  before. 

Often,  as  they  whiled  away  the  long  winter  evenings, 
they  spoke  of  their  relatives  at  home — of  their  mothers, 
wives  and  sisters ;  for  each  of  these  reckless  men  had 
left  a  portion  of  his  heart  in  the  distant  Orient.  At 
such  times  Isaac  would  not  say  a  word,  but  the  tears 
forced  themselves  through  his  lashes,  and  he  sent  up  a 
silent  prayer  for  the  welfare  of  his  beloved  ones.  On 
one  such  occasion  a  digger  went  over  to  Ike  and  shook 
him  roughly  out  of  his  revery. 

"  Say,  Sheeny  Ike,  ain't  you  got  no  relations  in  the 
East?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  a  wife  and  two  babies." 

""Well,  why  the  deuce  don't  you  tell  us  about  them?" 

Isaac  hesitated  awhile  before  dragging  the  names  of 
his  dear  ones  into  the  conversation ;  but  there  was  no 
escape,  and  in  his  quaint  way  he  told  them  the  simple 
story  of  his  life — of  his  sufferings,  of  his  emigration  to 
this  country  to  avoid  persecution.  He  followed  up  this 
narrative  writh  such  an  eulogy  upon  his  wife's  virtues 
that  the  entire  company  was  moved  to  tears. 

"  Gol-darn  it,  Ike,  you've  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  now, 
for  a  fact.  You  deserve  a  better  fate,"  was  the  opinion 
of  one  of  the  listeners ;  and  the  others  echoed  it. 

So  the  Jew  gradually  found  his  way  into  the  affec- 
tions of  his  associates,  and  before  he  had  been  three 
months  in  their  society  their  jeers  and  gibes  had  given 
way  to  something  like  respect,  and  Sheeny  Ike  was 


The  Crime.  49 

allowed  to  follow  his  own  ideas  in  matters  of  diet  and 
religion. 

Sweeny  usually  kept  away  from  these  evening  gather- 
ings. He  preferred  roaming  over  the  hills  or  riding 
over  to  rival  camps,  where  he  could  better  indulge  his 
appetite  for  liquor.  He  had  no  time  to  waste  on  relig- 
ious conversations.  All  the  spirituality  he  had  ever 
possessed  had  been  imbibed  from  the  whisky  bottle. 
Conversations  about  wife  and  children  had  no  attraction 
for  him,  either.  Rumor  had  it  that  he  had  deserted 
his  wife,  years  ago,  for  a  disreputable  person,  and  that 
the  murder  for  which  he  had  been  imprisoned  was  indi- 
rectly caused  by  this  desertion.  Sweeny  still  continued 
a  desperate  character  in  camp.  The  gang  stood  in 
terror  of  him,  and,  knowing  his  fierce  vindictiveness, 
were  careful  not  to  antagonize  him  unnecessarily.  Ike 
had  grown  accustomed  to  him,  and,  while  he  trembled 
before  his  fierce  glance,  he  feared  him  less  than  for- 
merly. 

Winter  passed  drearily  enough.  "With  the  advent  of 
spring,  hope  revived ;  but  spring  ripened  into  summer, 
and  still  the  gold — the  ardently  desired  gold — remained 
undiscovered.  The  company  divided  into  sections  and 
explored  the  country  in  different  directions.  Sweeny 
was  loud  in  his  assertions  that  he  could  lay  his  hand 
upon  unlimited  wealth,  and  his  assurance  had  the  effect 
of  keeping  a  number  of  men  about  him ;  but  his  mag- 
nificent promises  were  never  realized.  Finally,  early 
in  the  month  of  July,  it  was  decided  to  abandon  the 
camp  altogether  and  seek  for  the  precious  metal  farther 
north. 
4 


50  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"Look  here,  Ike,"  whispered  Sweeny  to  him,  one 
evening;  "I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Come  out  to  the 
ravine,  where  the  fellers  can't  hear  us." 

With  a  secret  apprehension  of  coming  mischief,  Isaac 
accompanied  his  dreaded  guide  to  the  designated  place. 

"You  needn't  pack  up  your  duds,  Ike,"  said  the 
bully,  when  they  were  beyond  ear-shot.  "You're  not 
going  to  travel  with  them  fellers." 

"Yes,  I  am,  Dick,"  returned  Isaac,  timidly.  "I'm 
tired  of  working  for  nothing." 

"  You're  not  going  with  the  boys,  I  say ;  and  you 
know  me.  When  I  say  a  thing  I  mean  it." 

Isaac  cowered  before  Sweeny's  threatening  eyes.  He 
feared  to  reply. 

"  You're  out  here  to  get  rich,  ain't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  just  it,"  he  replied.  "We've  been  out 
here  for  seven  months,  and  haven't  struck  it  yet.  I'm 
anxious  to  get  back  to  my  wife,  and  want  to  find  some- 
thing to  take  along  with  me." 

"  Egs-actly,"  said  Sweeny,  with  provoking  slowness ; 
"  and  that's  why  I'm  talking  to  you.  See  here ;  I've 
taken  a  fancy  to  you  from  the  first,  and  want  to  help 
you.  Them  fellers  are  a-goin'  to  a  place  that's  worked 
to  death,  while  this  place  right  here  is  richer  than  any 
of  them." 

"  It  don't  seem  so  to  me,"  answered  Ike,  impatiently. 

"It  don't,  eh?  Well,  look  at  this.  What  do  you 
say  now?" 

Sweeny  put  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his  ragged, 
mud-stained  trousers,  and  brought  out  a  nugget  of 
shining  gold.  How  it  glistened  in  the  moonlight !  It 


The  Crime.  51 

dazzled  Schwartz's  eyes,  and  he  took  it  in  his  hand  and 
mentally  calculated  its  weight. 

"Great  heavens!"  he  ejaculated,  scarcely  crediting 
his  senses ;  "  that  must  be  worth  a  hundred  dollars." 

"Yes,  twice  that,"  said  Dick,  carefully  putting  the 
treasure  back  into  his  pocket. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it,  Dick?  " 

"  In  a  fissure,  right  across  the  creek.  There's  lots 
more  where  that  came  from.  I  knew  of  it  months  ago, 
but  I  did  not  want  the  gang  to  get  on  to  it.  Now  listen 
to  me.  Let  them  fellers  go  to  the  devil,  if  they  like  ! 
They  haven't  got  no  love  for  me,  and  I  haven't  got 
none  for  them.  Me  and  you  will  stay  right  here,  and 
go  halves  in  these  diggin's.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  You  mean  that  I  am  to  remain  here  with  you,  and 
share  the  gold  ?  " 

"  That's  it,  my  boy.  What  a  comprehension  for  a 
Sheeny !  You  are  not  particularly  strong,  and  hard 
work  don't  agree  with  you.  Consequently  we'll  arrange 
for  you  to  stay  to  home,  and  do  the  cooking  and  such 
work  about  the  mansion " — and  he  jerked  his  thumb 
towards  the  rickety  log  cabin — "  while  I  work  the  dig- 
gin's.  You  can  carry  out  your  blamed  Jewish  ideas 
to  your  heart's  content ;  cook  your  milk  and  your  meat 
together,  or  separate,  and  go  through  all  the  jugglery 
you  like,  to  get  it  the  way  holy  Moses  commanded  it. 
I'll  not  interfere.  All  I  want  is  three  square  meals  a 
day,  while  I  go  out  and  scoop  in  the  yellow." 

"  And  are  we  to  share  alike  ?  "  eagerly  asked  Isaac, 
whose  desire  for  wealth  began  to  outweigh  the  dislike 
he  bore  Sweeny. 


52  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Ain't  that  what  I  said  ?  And  did  you  ever  know 
Dick  Sweeny  to  go  back  on  his  word  ?  At  the  end  of 
three  months  we  will  divide,  and  you  can  go  home  to 
your  wife  worth  half  a  million." 

Isaac's  head  began  to  swim.  His  mind's  eye  spanned 
the  three  months  like  a  flash,  and  beheld  the  rapturous 
reunion  with  wife  and  children.  It  was  too  good  to  be 
true.  Suddenly  he  thought  of  his  comrades. 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  the  gang  about  your  find  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  There  is  certainly  enough  for  all." 

"  Gol-darn  your  Hebrew  soul !"  cried  Sweeny,  alarmed 
at  the  idea ;  "  if  you  open  your  mouth  about  it,  I'll  fill 
you  so  full  of  holes  that  your  wife  can  use  you  for  an 
ash-sieve  ! " 

And  the  bully  flourished  his  revolver,  as  an  earnest 
of  his  threat. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Dick,  put  it  away  !  I'll  not  say  a 
word." 

Sweeny  put  his  weapon  back  into  his  pocket. 

"  There  are  several  reasons  why  I  want  you,"  he  said, 
sullenly.  "  I  might  have  picked  out  one  of  the  gang 
who  is  strong  enough  to  help  me  dig ;  but  I  don't  trust 
none  of  them.  After  I  had  collected  a  couple  of 
thousand,  they'd  run  off  with  it  and  leave  me  in  the 
hole.  Now,  I  trust  you.  With  all  your  heathenish 
notions  about  the  Talmutt,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  and 
about  your  not  believing  in  the  Holy  Ghost  and  the 
blessed  Virgin,  I  believe  you're  honest.  I  need  some 
one  to  look  after  me  when  I'm  drunk,  and  you've  got 
more  patience  than  all  the  rest  of  the  fellers  put 
together.  Now,  Ike  Black,  we're  going  to  be  million- 


The  Crime.  53 

aires,  and  you  ought  to  be  proud  at  being  elected  to  fill 
the  office." 

Isaac's  enthusiasm  had  somewhat  subsided  while 
Sweeny  spoke.  He  muttered  something  about  hoping 
that  the  thing  would  turn  out  well ;  and  while  Sweeny 
depicted,  in  glowing  colors  and  ungrammatical  English, 
the  brilliant  prospects  of  untold  wealth,  they  returned 
to  the  camp. 

Isaac  slept  little  that  night.  He  did  not  relish  being 
the  sole  companion  of  an  irresponsible  brute  like 
Sweeny.  He  had  had  enough  opportunities  of  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  his  terrible  anger  and  senseless  pas- 
sion. On  the  other  hand,  it  would  have  been  dangerous 
for  him  to  refuse,  after  becoming  the  custodian  of  the 
man's  secret.  Moreover,  the  desire  for  wealth  was 
growing  with  him.  As  the  days  rolled  by,  he  yearned 
to  be  reunited  with  his  Lena.  Here  was  the  long- 
sought  opportunity  to  achieve  success.  The  night  was 
spent  in  sleepless  indecision ;  but  when  morning  dawned 
his  resolution  was  firmly  taken — he  would  remain  with 
Dick,  for  better  or  for  worse.  That  Sweeny  meant 
treachery;  that  he  had  other  motives  for  keeping  the 
Jew  with  him,  never  entered  Isaac's  unsuspecting 
head. 

On  the  following  day  the  gang  separated,  Sweeny  and 
Schwartz  alone  remaining  behind. 

For  some  time  these  diametrically  opposite  characters 
got  along  very  well  together.  Sweeny  tried  to  keep 
sober,  and  worked  with  a  vim.  When  he  came  home  at 
night,  Isaac  would  ask  : 

u  Well,  Dick,  what  luck  ?  " 


54  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

And  Dick  would  display  a  little  canvas  bag,  filled 
with  gold-dust,  and  occasionally  a  good-sized  nugget. 

"How's  that,  Ike?" 

"  Immense !  Our  little  pile  is  growing.  We  will 
soon  be  rich." 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  In  three  months  we  will 
divide,  and  Ike  Black — Sheeny  Ike — will  be  a  million- 
aire." 

The  gold  was  placed  in  a  larger  sack,  which  was  care- 
fully hidden  in  a  cave  near  the  house.  This  was  in  turn 
closed  by  a  boulder,  and  the  treasure  was  safe  from  pry- 
ing intruders.  Isaac's  duties  were  not  very  arduous. 
He  attended  to  the  home  labors.  There  was  a  village 
some  six  miles  away,  and  to  this  Isaac  walked  daily  in 
search  of  provisions.  When  his  labors  in  the  cabin 
were  accomplished,  he  would  go  down  to  the  gorge  to 
help  Dick.  Thanks  to  the  invigorating  climate,  he  was 
becoming  robust  and  quite  handy  with  the  tools,  and 
whenever  he  struck  a  nugget,  however  small,  his  joy  at 
having  added  to  the  common  treasure  was  almost  in- 
fantile. At  washing  for  gold,  too,  he  was  becoming  an 
expert,  and,  on  the  whole,  contributed  as  much  to  the 
common  welfare  as  did  his  blustering  and  swearing 
partner. 

He  was,  as  we  know,  of  a  morbidly  religious  nature, 
and  could  now  give  his  piety  full  sway.  Whatever  was 
placed  on  his  table  was  prepared  as  nearly  as  possible 
according  to  Talmudic  regulations.  Meat  and  milk 
were  kept  religiously  apart.  He  applied  his  phylacter- 
ies and  said  his  prayers  with  unfailing  regularity.  He 
had  even  nailed  to  the  door-posts  of  his  log  cabin  a 


The  Crime.  55 

little  "  Messussa,"  which  he  had  brought  from  home, 
and  without  which  no  Jewish  dwelling  is  complete.  He 
was  as  orthodox  in  all  his  ceremonies  as  was  possible 
under  the  peculiar  circumstances,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
wilderness,  with  a  Gentile  outcast  for  a  companion,  Isaac 
established  an  orthodox  household.  He  kept  the  Jew- 
ish Sabbath,  doing  only  the  most  necessary  work,  and 
Sweeny,  to  humor  his  partner,  forbore  to  labor  on  that 
day,  and  worked  on  Sunday  instead.  In  spite  of  the 
anomaly  of  his  position,  therefore,  Isaac  was  compara- 
tively cheerful.  He  had  the  consolation  of  knowing 
that  he  was  laying  in  a  store  of  wealth  for  his  family. 

This  condition  of  affairs  lasted  about  two  months. 
Then  came  a  terrible  reaction.  Sweeny,  who  had,  for 
reasons  best  known  to  himself,  remained  tolerably  sober, 
came  home  one  day  in  a  state  of  beastly  intoxication. 
There  was  a  wicked  gleam  in  his  gray  eyes,  as  he  stag- 
gered into  the  room. 

"Here,  you  Christ-killer!"  he  shouted  to  Isaac. 
"  Take  off  my  boots,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

Isaac  shook  with  fright. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Dick  ? "  he  stammered. 
"  Are  you  sick  ?  " 

"  Sick,  nothing  !  Never  felt  better  in  my  life.  But 

I'm  d '  tired  of  doing  all  the  hard  work  and  having 

you  sit  around  at  home  and  taking  it  easy.  Do  you 
hear  me  ?  I'm  tired  of  it." 

"  Well,  Dick,"  answered  Isaac,  pacifically,  "  it  was 
your  own  suggestion.  I  do  all  I  can.  I'm  willing  to 
go  out  and  help  you  with  your  work.  Just  say  the 
word." 


56  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Ike's  meekness  had  an  irritating  effect  upon  the  be- 
sotted miner. 

"  All  you're  good  for  is  to  stay  at  home  and  say  your 
prayers,"  he  cried,  with  an  accompaniment  of  select  oaths. 

"  I'm  tired  of  your  d religion.  It  brings  me  bad 

luck.  Here's  another  of  your  mummeries,"  he  cried, 
striding  to  the  door  and  tearing  down  the  "  Messussa." 
"  I  don't  want  my  house  hoodooed  by  any  of  your 
blanked  nonsense  ! "  And  Sweeny  threw  the  obnox- 
ious thing  into  the  fire. 

Isaac,  trembling  in  every  limb,  moved  to  the  door. 

"  I'll  be  back  again  when  you  are  more  reasonable, 
Dick,"  he  said. 

"  Dern  your  soul ! "  cried  Sweeny,  enraged  at  the  pos- 
sible escape  of  his  victim,  "you  don't  move  a  step  with- 
out my  permission."  And  pulling  out  his  revolver,  he 
sent  a  ball  whizzing  past  Isaac's  ear.  Had  he  been  less 
intoxicated,  the  bullet  would  have  hit  the  mark,  and 
Isaac's  existence  have  come  to  an  untimely  end. 

"All  right,  Dick,"  cried  the  poor  fellow,  a  prey  to 
terror.  "  Put  up  your  revolver.  I  was  only  in  fun. 
I'll  stay  with  you." 

"  You'd  better,  if  you  know  what's  good  for  you." 

For  a  while  Sweeny  sulked  about  the  cabin,  venting 
his  spleen  upon  the  furniture  and  utensils,  which  he 
kicked  unceremoniously  about  the  room.  Then  he  went 
for  poor  Ike  again.  The  Jew's  religion  was  a  special 
annoyance  to  this  brute  during  his  drunken  moments, 
and  he  became  vehement  in  his  denunciation  of  Christ- 
killers  in  general,  and  of  this  one  in  particular.  Isaac 
nervously  went  on  with  his  work,  without  replying.  He 


The  Crime.  57 

feared  to  say  a  word  which  might  prove  his  undoing. 
This  stoical  silence  angered  Sweeny  more  and  more,  and 
he  fumed  in  uncontrollable  rage.  Suddenly  his  frenzy 
took  a  different  turn. 

"  How  do  I  know,"  he  muttered,  "  that  you  will  not 
rob  me  some  night  while  I'm  asleep,  and  go  off  with 
the  gold?" 

"You  know  I  wouldn't  do  it,  Dick,"  stammered 
Schwartz. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  kind.  I  don't  trust 
you.  I  don't  trust  no  Jew.  Dern  it,  if  I  thought  you'd 
take  the  gold,  I'd  blow  daylight  through  you  ! " 

Dick  made  a  significant  move  towards  his  hip  pocket. 

"Don't  shoot,  Dick,"  cried  the  terrified  man.  "I 
wouldn't  do  anything  dishonest."  And  he  cowered  in  a 
corner  of  the  cabin,  watching  the  other's  every  move 
like  a  sparrow  fascinated  by  a  serpent. 

Sweeny  strode  up  and  down  the  room  for  a  while, 
muttering  to  himself. 

"  I  guess  I'll  secure  you,  anyway,"  he  said,  with  an 
oath.  "  It  will  be  safer."  Taking  a  long  lariat  from 
the  wall,  he  threw  it  over  Ike's  head,  and  before  the 
latter  could  realize  what  had  happened,  he  found  him- 
self upon  the  floor,  with  the  brute  kneeling  over  him. 
With  a  few  turns  of  the  rope,  Sweeny  tied  the  poor 
fellow's  arms  and  legs  together,  so  that  motion  was 
almost  impossible. 

"  Now,  I  guess  you're  safe,"  he  said ;  and,  bestowing  a 
parting  kick  upon  the  helpless  body,  he  left  the  cabin, 
and  repaired  to  the  village  for  more  liquor. 

Isaac  listened  to  the   retreating  footsteps  with  fast- 


58  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

beating  heart.  By  twisting  and  turning,  he  gradually 
managed  to  loosen  the  poorly-tied  bonds  and  rose  to  his 
feet.  He  was  considerably  bruised,  however,  and  could 
stand  only  with  difficulty.  His  first  care  was  to  burn 
the  lariat,  to  prevent  a  repetition  of  the  outrage.  Then 
a  thousand  plans  as  to  his  future  conduct  coursed  through 
his  mind.  Should  he  remain  with  this  fellow  at  the  risk 
of  losing  his  life,  or  return  to  his  wife  as  poor  as  he  had 
gone  away  ?  Rather  return  home  a  beggar,  than  pur- 
chase wealth  at  such  a  price.  But,  alas !  he  could  not  go. 
He  feared  Sweeny's  influence,  even  at  a  distance,  and 
knew  how  hopeless  was  the  prospect  of  flight. 

Sweeny's  sprees  became  uncomfortably  frequent,  but 
Isaac  usually  saw  the  premonitory  symptoms,  and  would 
on  such  occasions  make  a  surreptitious  trip  to  the  vil- 
lage, and  remain  in  seclusion  until  Dick  had  sobered  up. 
It  was  when  he  was  drunk  that  Isaac  had  just  cause  to 
fear  him. 

Whatever  feelings  poor  Schwartz  may  have  originally 
harbored  toward  Sweeny,  but  one  sentiment  remained, 
and  that  was  intense  hatred.  There  is  no  hatred  com- 
parable to  that  rooted  in  fear  and  nourished  by  a  sense 
of  isolation  and  helplessness.  Doomed  to  silence  by  the 
loneliness  of  his  position,  his  broodings  encouraged  vin- 
dictiveness,  and  often  vague  thoughts  of  freeing  himself 
from  his  mortal  enemy  shot  through  his  brain.  His 
mingled  rage  and  hatred  found  vent  in  strange  schemes 
of  vengeance,  and  these  ideas  filled  him  with  terror  at 
himself,  even  while  they  promised  him  escape  from 
slavery.  At  times  he  hoped  that  Providence  might 
come  to  the  rescue.  What  if  Sweeny  were  found 


The  Crime.  59 

drowned  in  the  river  ?  What  if,  on  returning  from  the 
village  in  a  drunken  state,  he  stumbled  and  met  death 
over  a  precipice.  He  longed  ardently  for  some  such 
lucky  accident  to  rid  him  of  his  curse.  His  brain  gradu- 
ally became  so  busy  with  this  one  absorbing  idea,  that 
he  began  to  fear  for  his  own  sanity.  How  easy  it  would 
have  been  to  kill  Sweeny  as  he  lay  in  a  sodden  stupor, 
and  not  a  soul  would  be  the  wiser !  Such  a  suggestion 
had  presented  itself  at  times  insidiously  and  treacher- 
ously to  Isaac's  mind,  but  he  repelled  it  with  horror. 
No,  thank  God,  he  was  no  murderer !  A  Jew  abhors  the 
thought  of  shedding  blood,  and  Isaac  could  not  have 
willfully  hurt  a  dumb  brute.  Side  by  side  with  the 
phantom  of  Sweeny's  cruelty  stalked  a  still  more 
hideous  phantom — fear  of  himself;  and  he  beheld  them, 
these  grim  spectres,  with  terror-stricken  brain,  and  tried 
to  exorcise  them  with  what  little  religion  and  philos- 
ophy he  could  still  command.  Prayer  by  day  and  by 
night  was  his  most  effective  weapon — prayer  that  he 
might  be  relieved  from  his  tormentor's  presence,  prayer 
that  he  might  be  relieved  from  the  danger  of  doing  evil. 

And  then  when  his  desperation  hinted  at  a  possible 
violence  to  Sweeny,  he  would  invoke  the  features  of  his 
wife,  he  would  endeavor  to  picture  her  horror  at  any 
wickedness  he  might  commit ;  and,  trembling  like  a  leaf 
at  the  very  thought  of  incurring  her  scorn,  he  would 
relapse  into  a  state  of  quiescent  suffering,  and  leave  his 
fate  in  the  hands  of  God. 

They  were  cruel  days  of  fierce  temptation,  of  titanic 
struggle,  of  heroic  restraint. 

One  night  Ike  heard  his  partner  rise  from  his  cot,  and 


60  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

after  carefully  assuring  himself  that  the  Jew  had  his 
eyes  closed,  he  took  a  lantern  and  his  pick  and  spade, 
and  left  the  cabin.  Isaac  did  not.  dare  to  move,  but 
wondering  what  this  new  manoeuvre  might  signify,  he 
lay  quietly  under  the  covers  and  listened.  He  could 
hear  Sweeny  dig  in  the  clump  of  trees  near  the  cabin. 
A  strange  thought  shot  through  the  poor  fellow's  mind. 
Was  Sweeny  digging  a  grave  in  which  to  bury  him? 
He  trembled  with  fear.  There  was  nothing  to  do,  how- 
ever, but  to  remain  quiet  and  await  developments. 
Sweeny  worked  for  an  hour  before  he  returned.  After 
satisfying  himself  that  Isaac  was  still  asleep,  he  mut- 
terred  something,  and,  throwing  himself  upon  his  bed, 
was  soon  snoring.  His  hapless  comrade  slept  little  that 
night,  but  with  all  his  heart  wished  himself  at  home  in 
the  East.  In  the  morning  Isaac  found  a  deep  hole  dug 
near  the  hut,  carefully  hidden  by  twigs  and  earth. 

During  all  his  vicissitudes,  the  Jew  kept  a  correct 
reckoning  of  time.  September  had  come,  and  with  it 
the  Jewish  New  Year,  which  he  observed  religiously  in 
the  seclusion  of  his  cabin.  The  little  Hebrew  prayer 
book  was  brought  into  requisition,  and  Isaac's  thoughts 
were  divided  between  God  in  heaven  and  his  beloved 
ones  at  home.  Then  came  the  Day  of  Atonement,  the 
greatest  of  all  Jewish  holidays.  This,  too,  would  have 
been  duly  observed  but  for  a  serious  incident ;  Sweeny 
came  home  drunk,  offensively  drunk. 

It  was  Yom  Kippur  eve.  Isaac  had  eaten  his  supper 
in  solitude,  for  his  partner  had  not  yet  put  in  an  appear- 
ance. The  primitive  tin  dishes  had  been  washed  and 
put  away,  the  tallow  candles  lit,  and  Isaac  had  made 


The  Crime.  61 

peace  with  the  world.  He  had  adorned  his  shoulders 
with  a  snow  white  praying  scarf  with  a  black  border 
and  with  long  fringes  (Tallith),  one  of  his  father's  gifts. 
With  covered  head  and  with  a  contrite  heart,  he  stood 
facing  the  East,  engaged  in  earnest  prayer.  His  eyes 
swam  at  the  thought  of  the  wretchedness  of  his  situa- 
tion, of  his  complete  isolation  from  the  world.  He 
thought  of  his  brethren,  his  co-religionists  in  their 
various  synagogues,  praying  to  Jehovah  for  atonement. 
He,  too,  had  much  to  pray  for,  many  a  boon  to  ask 
of  his  Heavenly  Father,  and  he  prayed  long  and  fer- 
vently. 

The  prayer,  most  earnestly  offered,  was  one  of  devout 
thankfulness  that  he  had  preserved  his  innocence,  and, 
in  spite  of  temptation  and  provocation,  had  not  stained 
his  hands  with  crime. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  Sweeny  appeared  upon 
the  threshold,  staggering  under  a  load  of  "  tanglefoot." 
He  carried  his  pick  with  him,  and  stood  it  upright 
against  the  table. 

"Hullo,  what's  this?"  he  shouted,  in  his  maudlin 
voice,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  Jew,  picturesquely 
arrayed  in  his  Tallith.  "  A  masquerade  ?  " 

Isaac  did  not  reply. 

"  Saying  prayers  again,  eh  ?  Some  more  of  your  d 

religion.  Take  that  rag  off.  I've  got  enough  of  this 
nonsense."  Pulling  the  scarf  from  Ike's  shoulders,  he 
vented  his  anger  upon  it  by  tearing  it  into  strips. 

"  There,  that  will  make  a  fine  lot  of  bandages,"  he 
cried,  with  a  hoarse  laugh. 

Isaac's  blood  surged  wildly  through  his  veins  at  this 


62  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

new  indignity,  but  discretion  taught  him  to  keep  his 
mouth  closed. 

"Now  get  me  my  supper,  you  confounded  heaven- 
stormer." 

"  I  won't,  Dick !  This  is  the  Day  of  Atonement.  I'll 
do  no  work." 

"  You  won't,  eh  ?  Day  of  Atonement,  is  it  ?  I  don't 
care  if  it's  the  Day  of  Resurrection.  I  want  my  supper. 
You  think  I  ought  to  do  all  the  digging  and  hard  work, 
while  you  stay  at  home  and  say  your  prayers.  I  sup- 
pose you'll  want  some  of  my  gold  next." 

"  That's  it  exactly,"  cried  Isaac,  goaded  to  despera- 
tion. "  Dick  Sweeny,  our  three  months  are  up.  I'm 
tired  of  being  your  slave.  I've  stood  it  as  long  as  I 
could,  but  my  patience  has  given  out.  Give  me  my 
half  of  the  gold,  and  let  me  go  home  to  my  wife." 

An  unexpected  change  came  over  the  drunkard.  His 
eyes  bleared  fiendishly,  and  his  fingers  twitched  as 
though  he  contemplated  taking  Isaac  by  the  throat. 

"  Give  you  your  half  of  the  gold,"  he  repeated.  "  Ha, 
ha !  I'll  see  you  in  hell  first !" 

He  strode  over  to  Isaac  and  seized  him  by  the  wrist. 

"  So  you  thought  you  were  to  have  half  the  gold  for 
the  little  cooking  you  did,  you  groveling  idiot !  I  kept 
you  with  me  because  you  were  too  big  a  fool  to  be  dan- 
gerous. When  I  have  no  more  use  for  you,  you  can  go 
to  the  devil,  if  you  like.  But  the  gold  is  mine.  Do 
you  hear  me  ?  If  you  lay  your  fingers  on  it,  I'll  let 
daylight  through  your  Jewish  carcass  !" 

The  drunken  brute  had  given  Isaac  a  glimpse  of  his 
true  purpose ;  his  perfidy  was  apparent.  For  a  moment 


The  Crime.  63 

the  poor  fellow  stood  speechless  with  surprise  and  mor- 
tification. His  dream  of  wealth  was  at  an  end.  For 
months  he  had  toiled  and  slaved  for  this  tyrant,  and 
submitted  to  his  insults,  buoyed  up  solely  by  the  hope 
of  becoming  rich,  and  now  he  saw  his  hope  destroyed, 
his  life  irretrievably  wasted. 

As  he  gazed  into  the  besotted  face  of  the  miner,  who 
still  held  him  firmly  by  the  wrist,  rage  and  despair 
supplanted  the  meekness  which  had  so  long  character- 
ized him.  He  was  conscious  of  but  one  thought — 
namely,  that  he  stood  face  to  face  with  a  mortal  enemy. 

"  You  devil !"  he  hissed,  trying  to  break  loose  from 
the  fellow's  grasp.  "  You  false,  lying,  deceitful  devil  !" 

All  his  passion  seemed  to  go  out  in  his  speech. 
Sweeny  put  his  hand  to  his  pistol. 

"  Say  that  again,  you  miserable  dog,  and  I'll — " 

But  he  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  Mad  with  fear 
and  rage,  Isaac  had  seized  the  pick  and  swung  it  with 
all  the  force  of  despair  at  Sweeny's  head.  The  aim 
was  true,  and,  with  a  stifled  curse,  the  miner  fell  to  the 
floor.  A  stream  of  blood  issued  from  a  gash  in  his 
temple  where  the  pick  had  struck. 

Isaac  gazed  at  the  fallen  man  in  a  stupid  way,  with- 
out at  first  realizing  what  he  had  done.  His  anger  had 
vented  itself  in  that  one  blow,  and  a  moment  later  he 
felt  remorse  at  his  hasty  and  unpremeditated  deed. 

"Dick,"  he  cried,  sinking  on  his  knees  beside  the 
bleeding  man,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you.  Come,  get 
up,  and  say  you'll  forgive  me." 

Sweeny  did  not  move,  but  lay  stiff  and  inert  upon  the 
ground, 


64  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"Good  God,  he  is  dead!"  shrieked  Isaac,  tearing 
open  his  victim's  shirt  and  feeling  for  his  heart.  "  I 
have  killed  him  !  I  am  his  murderer  !  My  God,  what 
will  become  of  me  ?" 

For  awhile  he  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  unconscious 
clay,  too  dazed  for  rational  thought.  Then  he  sprang 
to  his  feet,  with  a  cry  of  despair. 

"  They  will  hang  me  for  his  murder !"  he  groaned. 
"Oh,  what  have  I  done?  I  didn't  mean  to  kill  him — 
God  knows  I  didn't  mean  to  do  that !  Lena  !"  he  cried, 
in  despair — "  what  will  become  of  Lena  and  the  chil- 
dren if  I  am  hung  as  a  murderer  ?" 

The  thought  drove  him  to  frenzy. 

"  I  did  it  in  self-defence,"  he  murmured ;  "  but  no 
one  would  believe  me.  They  daren't  find  me  here ;  I 
shall  run  away  before  they  come.  But  the  gold  !  I'll 
take  that  with  me ;  I  worked  faithfully  for  it.  I  shall 
have  my  pay  for  the  time  I  served  this  man." 

"With  a  shuddering  look  at  the  body,  Isaac  hurried 
out  into  the  dark  night  and  went  straight  to  the  cave  in 
which  the  treasure  had  been  concealed.  With  feverish 
excitement  he  tugged  at  the  heavy  stone  and  pulled  it 
from  its  place.  He  put  his  hand  into  the  opening.' 
Good  heavens !  the  sack  of  gold  had  disappeared — the 
cave  was  empty!  There  was  now  no  doubt  left  of 
Sweeny's  treachery.  He  had  surreptitiously  removed 
the  gold,  for  fear  that  Isaac  might  make  off  with  it. 

"  Curse  him — curse  him  !"  muttered  Isaac,  as  hot 
tears  coursed  down  his  cheeks. 

Suddenly  he  remembered  that  Sweeny  had  dug  the 
pit  behind  the  cabin.  Perhaps  he  had  formed  a  new 


The  Crime.  65 

hiding-place  for  the  treasure.  Isaac  hastily  retraced 
his  steps,  and  groped  his  way  to  the  clump  of  trees 
behind  the  house.  He  sought  for  the  spot  in  which 
the  sack  might  have  been  concealed,  but  it  was  dark 
and  he  could  see  nothing.  He  would  have  to  go  back 
to  the  cabin  and  get  a  lantern.  He  opened  the  door 
slowly,  in  superstitious  awe,  and  shuddered  as  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  corpse.  The  blood  was  still  trickling 
down  the  stony  face.  It  was  a  fearful  aspect.  Isaac 
felt  faint  at  the  sight  of  it  Instinctively  he  thought 
of  staunching  the  wound.  Ha,  the  praying  scarf !  He 
seized  one  of  the  strips  from  the  floor,  and  taking 
Dick's  head  upon  his  lap,  he  bound  it  tightly  about 
the  bleeding  forehead.  Sweeny  was  right;  the  Tal- 
lith  made  an  excellent  bandage.  Then  he  left  the 
head  sink  slowly  to  the  floor,  mechanically  lit  the 
lantern,  and  slunk  out  in  a  stupor  of  fear  and  re- 
morse. 

His  search  was  rewarded,  after  a  few  moments,  by 
finding  the  spot.  There  was  a  freshly-made  elevation, 
with  loose  earth  around  it.  It  looked  like  a  new  grave. 
It  must  be  here  that  Sweeny  had  buried  the  treasure. 
Isaac  tore  at  the  earth  with  his  fingers.  Down,  further 
down,  he  burrowed  with  the  energy  of  a  madman.  At 
last  he  grasped  something  yielding;  it  was  the  sack. 
He  tugged  at  it  with  both  hands  with  remarkable 
strength  until  he  had  torn  it  from  its  concealment.  He 
opened  the  bag  feverishly.  Perhaps  he  was  mistaken, 
after  all.  No,  it  was  the  gold — the  treasure  was  safe. 

"  I  have  it !"  he  cried,  wiping  his  perspiring  face  on 
his  sleeve.  "  Lena  and  the  children  will  be  wealthy. 
5 


66  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

I'll  be  a  Shlemiel  no  longer.  But  oh,  my  God,  what  a 
price  I  have  paid  for  it !" 

He  swung  the  sack  upon  his  shoulder.  It  was  un- 
comfortably heavy,  but  Isaac  seemed  to  have  acquired 
herculean  strength.  Now  he  would  flee — flee  to  a  place 
of  safety — to  his  home.  He  staggered  down  the  road 
toward  the  village  with  his  precious  burden.  No,  he 
could  not  go  thus.  He  must  return  to  the  cabin  for 
his  trinkets. 

Dropping  his  sack  in  the  narrow  road,  he  crept,  rather 
than  walked,  back  to  the  hut.  He  hesitated  with  fear 
before  entering ;  then,  with  an  effort,  opened  the  door. 

There  lay  the  stiffening  body,  with  the  dim  light  of 
the  candle  casting  its  rays  across  the  ghastly  features. 
It  seemed  as  though  the  body  had  changed  its  position. 
Isaac  crawled  along,  holding  to  the  chair,  to  the  table, 
to  the  wall  for  support.  He  could  not  tear  his  horrified 
gaze  from  the  corpse ;  he  trembled  in  every  limb.  Pull- 
ing himself  together  with  an  effort,  he  went  to  his  little 
chest  in  the  corner.  There  was  not  much  he  wanted — 
only  his  phylacteries  and  his  prayer  book,  the  compan- 
ions of  his  happier  days.  All  the  rest  might  remain 
with  the  corpse.  Isaac  crept  back  to  the  door.  Once 
it  appeared  as  though  the  body  moved  slightly.  Isaac 
stood  with  bated  breath  and  haggard  face.  It  must 
have  been  a  delusion ;  the  man  apparently  lay  still  in 
death.  The  walls,  the  furniture,  the  corpse  seemed  to 
cry  out,  "  Assassin  !  assassin  I" 

Isaac  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Putting  his  relics  into 
his  pocket,  he  went  out  of  the  cabin  into  the  dark  and 
friendly  night. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE   RETURN. 

"  Where  is  the  one  who  hath  not  had 
Some  anguish-trial,  long  gone  by, 
Steal,  spectre-like,  all  dark  and  sad, 
On  busy  thought? — Cook. 

MRS.  FRANZMAN,  widow,  was  sole  proprietor  of  a 
notions,  dry  goods  and  millinery  store  on  Cedar  Street. 
An  enterprising,  thrifty  little  woman  was  Mrs.  Fran/- 
man, with  an  undeniable  talent  for  business  and  for 
making  friends.  When  Mr.  Franzman  died,  he  left  a 
little  shop,  heavily  burdened  with  debts.  He  left,  more- 
over, three  small  children,  whose  cries  for  bread  could 
not  be  stifled,  and  Mrs.  Franzman  saw  herself  obliged 
to  continue  the  business  which  her  defunct  husband  had 
started,  but  which  had  been  a  losing  speculation  from 
the  first. 

With  remarkable  energy  she  had  applied  herself  to 
her  task,  and  succeeded,  at  the  end  of  a  few  years,  in 
removing  every  vestige  of  debt  and  of  placing  her 
establishment  upon  a  paying  basis.  It  was  now  the  best 
patronized  shop  on  the  street,  the  rendezvous  of  all  the 
Jewish  women  in  the  city,  and  of  many  Christians  as 
well,  who  bought  her  bonnets  because  they  were 
stylish  and  of  moderate  price,  and  because  Mrs.  Franz- 
man had  the  happy  faculty  of  pleasing  them  in  every 

67 


C8  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

particular.  One  touch  of  the  milliner's  fingers  makes 
all  womankind  kin.  The  place  was  the  neatest  one 
could  imagine.  The  floor  and  the  counters,  the  shelves 
and  the  show  windows,  were  as  clean  as  indefatigable 
scrubbing,  scouring  and  painting  could  make  them. 
The  little  room  behind  the  shop  contained  three  pretty 
milliner  girls,  all  dressed  in  neat  white  aprons.  They 
were  as  cheerful  as  the  gaudy  bonnets  which  were  being 
trimmed  by  their  nimble  fingers.  Mrs.  Franzman  was 
a  woman  in  a  thousand,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  for  her 
biographer  to  chronicle  her  excellent  qualities. 

In  appearance  Mrs.  Franzman  was  an  impressive 
woman,  who  had  no  doubt  been  considered  handsome 
in  her  youth.  Her  figure  was  still  slim  and  graceful ; 
her  face,  with  its  black  hair  and  dark  eyes,  was  some- 
what emaciated  from  her  ceaseless  and  energetic  toil ; 
but  a  look  of  ineffable  kindness  pervaded  her  features, 
just  as  goodness  pervaded  all  her  acts.  She  and  her 
husband  had  migrated  from  Hanover  ten  years  before. 
They  had  enjoyed  a  good  education,  and  had  quickly 
adopted  American  speech  and  manners. 

It  was  at  the  house  of  this  estimable  lady  that  Lena 
had  found  a  home ;  and  such  a  home  !  She  never  neg- 
lected to  thank  God  in  her  prayers  for  having  led  her 
to  so  friendly  a  refuge.  Lena  proudly  occupied  the  posi- 
tion of  cook,  of  nurse,  of  housekeeper,  of  companion. 
She  early  evinced  her  worthiness  of  her  protector's  con- 
fidence, and  if  she  was  grateful  for  the  favors  shown 
her,  Mrs.  Franzman  was  no  less  thankful  for  having 
secured  a  helper  on  whom  she  could  implicitly  rely,  and 
who  would  relieve  her  of  the  cares  of  her  house  and 


The  Return.  69 

children,  while  she  devoted  her  entire  time  to  the  con- 
stantly growing  business. 

The  little  Franzmans,  the  oldest  of  whom  was  a  boy 
of  ten,  loved  Aunt  Lena,  as  they  called  her,  and  she 
understood  perfectly  the  art  of  winning  their  young 
hearts. 

We  will  intrude  upon  the  privacy  of  their  happy 
home,  and  visit  them  this  quiet  October  evening.  The 
children  had  just  been  put  to  bed — Davie,  Ray  and 
Henry  in  one  room,  and  Josie  and  Rose  in  an  adjoining 
apartment,  in  which  stood  Lena's  bed.  Joe  had  grown 
immensely  since  we  saw  him  last.  His  cheeks  were 
chubbier,  and  there  was  in  his  face  an  undeniable 
resemblance  to  his  father.  Little  Rose,  too,  had  become 
quite  a  lady ;  she  had  cut  all  her  teeth,  could  toddle 
about  gracefully,  and  could  speak  with  astonishing  dis- 
tinctness. 

"  Say  your  prayers,  Josie,  dear,"  said  his  mother. 

Joe  folded  his  hands  and  repeated  his  evening  prayer. 
Its  conclusion  was,  as  it  had  been  daily  for  a  year, 
"  Oh,  God,  bring  back  papa  soon  again  !  Amen." 

And  his  mother's  eyes,  as  usual,  filled  with  tears  as 
her  heart  echoed  the  request.  Then  Lena  kissed  the 
little  ones,  tucked  them  under  the  warm  guilts,  and  went 
down  to  Mrs.  Franzrnan  in  the  shop. 

Mr.  Rosenheim,  who  had  just  closed  up  his  store  and 
was  on  his  way  home,  stopped  in  for  a  moment  to  pass 
the  time  of  day.  He  frequently  called  to  see  how  Lena 
was  getting  on ;  for,  since  his  munificent  contribution  to 
Schwartz's  traveling  fund,  he  considered  himself  in 
some  degree  obligated  to  see  after  the  wife's  welfare. 


70  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  My  vife  expects  you  and  Mrs.  Schwartz  to  de  house 
Monday  evening,  to  play  klopfen  (a  game  of  cards)," 
he  said  to  Mrs.  Franzman. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  that  lady ;  "  we  will  be  glad  to 
come." 

"  Yell,  Mrs.  Schwartz,  vot  do  you  hear  from  your 
hoosband  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  visible  eifort  to  cheer  her 
up.  "  I  guess  dot  man  has  only  two  objects  in  life — 
one  is  to  get  rich,  and  de  oder  is  to  get  richer." 

"  I  haven't  heard  from  him  for  some  time,"  replied 
Lena,  wistfully  ;  "  but  I  hope  he  is  well  and  happy." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  he  is  happy  if  he  finds  lots  of  gold.  I 
tell  you  vot  it  is.  Happiness  is  not  having  all  you 
vant,  but  in  being  able  to  get  more.  Yen  a  man  has 
so  mooch  money  dot  he  don't  know  how  to  spend  it  all, 
dot  kind  of  ignorance  is  bliss.  Yot  does  de  Talmud 
say  ?  '  Kol  devorim  tluim.'  Yell,  vot's  de  difference 
vot  de  Talmud  says  ?  It  means,  '  Dere  may  be  some 
t'ings  dot  are  better  dan  money ;  but  it  takes  money  to 
buy  dem.'  Yell,  I  hope  he  vill  soon  come  home  for 
your  sake.  I  vill  be  one  of  de  first  to  shake  his  hand 
and  say  '  Massel-tof/  Good  night.  Cheer  up !  I 
must  go  home  now ;  my  vife  is  vaiting.  Now,  be  sure 
and  come  on  Monday  evening." 

And  Mr.  Rosenheim,  with  sundry  nods  and  winks 
indicative  of  good  will,  left  the  ladies  to  their  work. 

The  widow  was  busy  at  this  particular  season.  Her 
bonnets'  were  in  great  demand,  and  her  little  force  of 
milliners  were  often  kept  at  their  work  till  late  at  night. 
She  dismissed  her  tired  helpers  and  sat  down  with 
Lena  to  finish  an  important  order. 


The  Keturn.  71 

"  Do  you  know,  Lena,"  said  Mrs.  Franzman,  holcU 
ing  up  a  bonnet  upon  which  she  was  bestowing  the  fin- 
ishing touches,  and  examining  it  critically  from  all 
sides,  "  do  you  know  that  I  am  tired  of  my  business, 
and  think  seriously  of  retiring." 

"  Why,  Pauline,  you  cannot  be  in  earnest !  Give  up 
this  business,  which  is  more  prosperous  than  ever  it 
was!" 

"  That  is  just  the  difficulty — it  is  too  prosperous.  I 
have  neither  the  energy  nor  the  physical  force  necessary 
to  conduct  it.  I  go  to  bed  harassed  by  business  cares, 
and  I  arise  with  them  in  the  morning.  I  have  too  much 
upon  my  shoulders — as  much  as  most  men  could  bear. 
And  my  children  ;  why,  I  have  hardly  spoken  to  them 
for  three  days.  If  it  were  not  for  the  Sabbath,  I  would 
scarcely  get  time  to  speak  to  them  at  all." 

"  That  is  certainly  unfortunate,"  Lena  assented. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without  you,  my 
dear,"  continued  Mrs.  Franzman.  "You  have  been  a 
second  mother  to  them,  and  I  know  they  love  you 
almost  as  much  as  they  do  me." 

"And  I  love  them.  Both  you  and  they  are  very 
dear  to  me.  Oh,  Pauline,  what  would  have  become  of 
me  without  your  aid  ?  " 

"  Something  else  would  have  presented  itself.  God 
does  not  desert  his  children." 

Both  women  were  working  while  they  conversed. 

"  But  the  store,"  exclaimed  Lena,  after  a  pause. 
"  You  surely  do  not  mean  to  dispose  of  that  ?" 

"Yes,  if  I  can  find  a  good  purchaser  for  it.  It  is 
well  established,  and  should  bring  a  fair  price.  I  could 


72  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

then  live  comfortably  on  my  savings,  bring  up  my  chil- 
dren as  good  Israelites,  and  make  up  for  them  in  love 
the  neglect  of  the  last  few  years.  Ah,  if  my  husband 
were  still  alive,  how  proud  he  would  be  of  this  business 
which  he  founded,  but  whose  success  he  did  not  live  to 
see  !" 

Lena  sighed,  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 

"Apropos,  have  you  had  no  news  from  your  hus- 
band ?"  asked  Mrs.  Franzman,  who  divined  the  mean- 
ing of  that  sigh. 

"  None  whatever.  It  is  three  months  since  I  last 
heard  from  him.  At  that  time  he  was  very  despondent. 
Something  unfortunate  must  have  happened  to  him. 
Oh,  Pauline,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  heavy  my  heart  is ! 
I  know  I  shall  appear  ungrateful.  I  have  a  good 
home,  but  I  would  prefer  poverty,  even  starvation,  at 
his  side,  to  riches  and  luxury  without  him." 

Pauline  took  up  a  bonnet  and  held  it  to  the  light. 
The  movement  effectually  concealed  a  tear  which 
dimmed  her  eye. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  on  his  way  home." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so.  It  is  not  likely,  however, 
for  he  would  have  prepared  me/' 

"You  should  not  despair,  my  dear;  he  will  come 
back  in  good  time." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  the  willing  fingers 
flew  over  their  work,  while  active  brains  were  busy 
with  troublesome  reflections.  Lena's  thoughts  resem- 
bled the  circlets  of  waves  in  a  pond,  set  into  motion  by 
a  stone  thrown  into  the  glassy  waters.  The  impulse 
which  stirred  these  wavelets  was  the  ever-recurring 


The  Return.  73 

figure  of  her  husband,  and  doubt,  fear,  uneasiness  fol- 
lowed each  other  through  ever  varying  circles  and 
degrees  of  intensity.  She  was  very  unhappy,  and  scald- 
ing tears  blinded  her  eyes,  and  falling,  almost  ruined 
the  delicate  ribbon  on  which  she  was  working. 

Hark  !  A  ring  at  the  door-bell ;  perhaps  a  belated 
customer.  Lena  ran  to  open  the  door,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  confronting  a  man  in  the  passage. 

"  Lena  !  Lena — dear  Lena !  don't  you  know  me  ?" 

"  Isaac,  my  husband  !"  Lena  fairly  shrieked,  in  her 
glad  surprise ;  and  the  lovers  lay  in  each  other's  arms, 
oblivious  to  all  but  their  long-delayed  happiness. 

Pauline  had  run  out  at  the  noise,  and  stood  a  silent 
witness  of  the  ecstatic  scene.  Tears  ran  unhindered 
down  her  cheeks — tears  of  joy  and  sympathy. 

"  Ah,"  she  sighed,  fervently,  "  if  my  husband  could 
but  come  back,  too  !" 

Never  was  there  such  a  reunion.  A  thousand  times 
they  told  each  other  of  their  happiness  and  love.  They 
could  find  words  for  nothing  else.  Mrs.  Franzman 
wisely  left  them  to  themselves,  until  the  first  transports 
of  bliss  were  over.  Then  Lena  led  the  way  to  her 
little  room,  and  Joe  and  Rose  were  taken  forcibly  from 
their  cots  and  fairly  smothered  with  kisses  before  they 
were  half  awake. 

"  Josie,  God  has  heard  your  prayers ;  papa  has  come 
back!" 

Lena  could  not  contain  her  joy,  but,  sinking  on  her 
knees,  poured  out  her  gratitude  to  the  Father  in  heaven. 
Then  there  were  more  kisses,  and  Rose  had  to  display 
her  beautiful  teeth,  and  toddled  around  in  her  white 


74  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

night-gown  to  show  papa  how  she  could  walk ;  while 
Joe  danced  about  the  room  in  a  transport  of  childish 
glee. 

Then  Mrs.  Franzman  came  in  for  her  share  of  the 
rejoicing.  Lena  told  her  husband  in  a  few,  affectionate 
words  how  kind  Pauline  had  been  to  her,  how  she 
owed  all  of  her  happiness  during  the  past  year  to  her 
dear  friend,  who  was  more  than  sister — to  all  of  which 
Mrs.  Frauzmau  put  in  a  modest  disclaimer.  The  con- 
versation ended  with  more  kisses  and  more  tears  of  joy 
and  more  expressions  of  fervent  gratitude. 

The  children  were  reluctantly  put  to  bed  again,  and 
Mrs.  Franzman  accompanied  the  happy  couple  to  the 
little  sewing-room  behind  the  shop,  and  now  for  the 
first  time  Isaac  and  Lena  began  really  to  look  at  each 
other  to  see  what  changes  time  had  wrought.  Lena 
had  altered  for  the  better.  Her  face  had  rounded,  her 
form  had  become  more  robust  under  the  influence  of  the 
quiet  life  she  had  led,  and  her  old-time  beauty  was 
gradually  returning.  Isaac,  too,  had  changed  wonder- 
fully. 

"  I  might  have  passed  you  on  the  street  without 
knowing  you,"  said  his  wife. 

His  once  frail  and  sickly  physique  had  expanded ; 
his  face  was  sunburnt  and  swarthy  from  exposure.  His 
English  had  greatly  improved,  and  although  he  retained 
many  of  the  rugged  expressions  common  to  miners,  he 
spoke  like  a  thorough  American.  He  was  improved 
in  every  way.  There  was  something,  however,  which 
changed  him  more  than  all  else,  and  that  was  the  pecu- 
liar expression  of  his  eyes.  There  was  a  vague  and 


The  Return.  75 

indefinable  something  in  them  which  made  an  unfavor- 
able impression  on  the  beholder.  They  wore  a  hunted 
and  anxious  look,  like  those  of  a  stag  brought  to  bay. 
Those  eyes,  once  so  frank  and  straightforward,  were 
now  nervously  cast  down  when  one  looked  into  them, 
as  though  fearful  that  the  soul  might  through  them 
betray  its  secret.  Mrs.  Franzman  observed  it,  and 
ascribed  it  to  a  natural  nervousness  caused  by  excite- 
ment. Lena  observed  it,  and  attributed  it  to  the  months 
of  toil  and  privation  in  the  Western  wilderness.  As 
his  wife  looked  at  him  with  indescribable  tenderness 
and  affection,  Isaac  averted  his  eyes,  and  a  guilty  flush 
mantled  his  face  and  neck. 

"  If  she  knew — my  God,  if  she  knew  !"  he  thought. 

Lena  knew  nothing  and  observed  nothing.  She  was 
alive  only  to  the  bliss  of  the  moment.  Her  long-lost 
husband  was  with  her  again. 

Isaac  was  soon  at  ease,  and  after  partaking  of  a 
hastily-prepared  supper,  he  consented  to  tell  the  story 
of  his  adventures.  The  women  listened  attentively, 
commiseratingly,  while  he  related,  in  all  its  minute 
details,  his  experiences.  He  spoke  of  the  taunts  he  had 
endured,  of  the  abuse  he  had  received,  of  the  fruitless 
search  after  gold,  of  the  vexatious  disappointments  and 
deluded  hopes  which  formed  a  part  of  his  existence. 
He  spoke  of  his  yearnings  to  return  home,  of  his  de- 
termination to  succeed.  He  told  his  story  with  feverish 
rapidity.  Certain  portions  seemed  to  affect  him  strangely. 
He  uttered  Sweeny's  name  but  once,  and  then  it  seemed 
to  choke  him,  and  he  had  to  pause  and  gasp  for  breath. 
Every  now  and  then  his  wife  would  interrupt  him  to 


76  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

ask  a  question,  or  to  express  sympathy.  The  latter 
part  of  his  adventures,  the  incidents  of  the  three  months 
during  which  he  lived  with  Sweeny,  Isaac  scarcely 
touched  upon,  except  to  relate,  in  a  hasty  and  general 
way,  that  his  search  for  gold  had  finally  been  crowned 
with  success. 

"And  did  you  bring  back  a  fortune?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Franzrnan,  eagerly. 

"  Not  a  fortune,"  replied  Isaac ;  "  but  I  bring  back 
twenty  thousand  dollars  as  my  profit  in  the  enterprise." 

"  Twenty  thousand  dollars !"  cried  Lena,  in  amaze- 
ment. "  Why,  it  is  more  than  a  fortune.  What  will  we 
do  with  so  much  money?" 

Isaac  sat  uneasily  in  his  chair.  The  mention  of  the 
money  seemed  to  unnerve  him. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  continued  his  wife,  "  you  wrote 
nothing  about  it  in  your  last  letter.  Why  did  you  not 
cheer  my  despondency  by  telling  me  of  your  luck  ?  " 

"  Because,"  stammered  Isaac,  his  voice  becoming 
fainter,  "  I  wanted  to  surprise  you.  In  fact,  we  had 
not  found  the  gold  when  I  wrote  to  you." 

Lena  looked  wonderingly  at  her  husband.  Why  was 
his  manner  so  agitated  ?  Why  did  his  eyes  wear  such 
a  frightened  expression  ?  For  a  moment  he  caught  his 
wife's  searching  glance  and  quailed  before  it.  He 
thought  he  detected  mistrust,  suspicion,  horror  in  her 
look,  as  though  her  lips  had  formed  the  words,  "  Mur- 
derer !  thief ! " 

He  was  mistaken.  His  unsuspicious  wife  turned  to 
receive  the  congratulations  of  Pauline. 

"  Twenty  thousand  dollars  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Franzman, 


The  Eeturn.  77 

with  a  radiant  face.  "  What  a  stroke  of  good  luck  ! 
What  a  vast  amount  of  good  one  can  accomplish  with 
that  sum  of  money  !  " 

"  And  to  think  that  Isaac  should  have  made  it  all  by 
hard  work ;  by  digging  and  toiling  in  that  frightful 
country,"  exclaimed  Lena,  with  a  proud  smile  of  satis- 
faction. 

"Ah,  therein  lies  the  blessing  of  wealth,"  replied 
Pauline.  "  The  consciousness  of  having  acquired  it 
honestly  makes  the  possession  of  money  truly  blessed." 

"  I  should  not  want  to  possess  the  advantages  of 
money,  unless  it  was  honestly  earned,"  said  Lena,  with 
decision.  "  I  should  prefer  to  live  in  poverty.  How 
delightful  it  will  be,  in  years  to  come,  to  contrast  our 
former  misery  with  our  present  prosperity,  and  to  know 
that  our  wealth  is  the  result  of  self-denial,  courage  and 
honest  labor." 

Isaac  writhed  in  mental  torture  as  the  women  spoke. 
Did  they  suspect?  Were  their  words  but  a  flimsy  veneer 
to  conceal  their  true  sentiments?  He  sprang  from  his 
chair  in  a  state  of  nervous  tension.  There  was  a  wild 
delirium  in  his  eye,  and  great  beads  of  perspiration 
stood  upon  his  forehead. 

"  It  was  honestly  gained,  I  tell  you !  "  he  cried,  ges- 
ticulating like  a  drunken  man.  "  I  toiled  and  I  worked 
for  it.  It  was  mine  by  all  rights  of  justice.  God,  how 
I  stood  abuse  and  wrong  and  became  a  slave,  that  I 
might  bring  home  to  Lena  the  wealth  I  promised  her  ! 
Yes,  it  is  mine,  and  no  one  shall  take  it  from  me." 

After  a  few  incoherent  exclamations  he  gradually 
recovered  his  self-possession  and  fell  into  a  chair,  pant- 


78  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

ing  from  utter  weakness.  Lena,  frightened  at  such  un- 
called-for vehemence,  ran  to  his  side  and  took  his  hand 
in  hers. 

"  Isaac,  dear  Isaac,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you 
unwell?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  her  husband,  languidly,  "  I  am  sick. 
It  is  some  trouble  left  over  from  my  life  of  exposure  in 
camp.  It  makes  me  excited  and  passionate.  Now  that 
I  am  home  again  with  you,  it  will  soon  pass  away.  Did 
I  frighten  you,  Lena  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  little.  But  never  mind ;  let  us  be  happy 
to-night,  after  so  long  a  separation." 

The  subject  was  dismissed  and  the  remainder  of  the 
evening  passed  uneventfully.  Isaac  was  more  com- 
posed, and  listened  with  evident  interest  to  Lena's 
account  of  her  life  during  his  absence.  It  was  long 
after  midnight  when  they  retired,  and  the  returned  wan- 
derer, exhausted  by  the  day's  emotions,  dropped  off 
into  a  sound  and  refreshing  sleep. 


'  Jt  was  an  inspiration  from  on  high,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     RECEPTION. 

"  What  though  success  will  not  attend  on  all, 
Who  bravely  dares,  must  sometimes  risk  a  fall." 

— Smollett. 

THE  news  of  Isaac's  return  spread  quickly  through 
the  town,  and  the  commotion  it  caused  was  indescriba- 
ble. Exaggerated  reports  of  his  wealth  were  handed 
from  mouth  to  mouth,  growing  with  each  repetition, 
until  the  erstwhile  Shlemiel  had  blossomed  into  a 
Croesus ;  and  good,  pious  burghers,  who  a  year  ago 
would  have  disdained  to  touch  the  poor  man's  garment, 
now  flocked  to  kiss  the  rich  man's  hand. 

The  Rabbi  was  the  first  to  greet  his  proteg6,  and  his 
joy  at  the  safe  and  prosperous  return  was  unspeakably 
great. 

"  It  was  truly  an  inspiration  from  on  high,"  he  said, 
at  length. 

"  But  without  your  help  and  that  of  your  congrega- 
tion, the  inspiration  would  have  gone  for  nought," 
replied  Schwartz. 

"  Thank  God  that  I  was  able  to  be  of  some  assist- 
ance. I  only  fear  that  all  the  poor  fellows  in  town  will 
now  besiege  us  for  money  to  go  West.  Come  to  my 
house,  with  your  family,  this  evening,  and  we  will  cele- 
brate your  return  in  a  befitting  manner." 

79 


80  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

A  memorable  gathering  met  at  Mr.  Kauffman's  house 
in  the  evening,  to  welcome  the  successful  prospector. 
There  were,  first  of  all,  the  original  contributors  to  the 
fund  which  sent  Schwartz  to  California,  each  brimful  of 
conscious  pride  at  having  assisted  in  such  a  successful 
venture.  They  came,  with  their  wives  and  children,  to 
touch  the  modern  Midas  and  to  hear  from  his  own  lips 
the  marvelous  story  of  his  escapades. 

There  was  also  quite  a  number  of  men  who  had  not 
contributed,  under  the  mistaken  notion  that  it  would  be 
money  thrown  away,  and  that  Schwartz  might  do  vastly 
better  by  seeking  work  at  home.  These  came  to  wel- 
come the  hero,  secretly  deploring  their  short-sightedness, 
but  willing  to  admit  their  error  and  share  in  the  general 
rejoicing  at  the  successful  outcome  of  the  experiment. 
There  was,  furthermore,  a  generous  sprinkling  of 
Sephardim,  who,  though  they  had  no  love  for  Schwartz 
or  his  "  landsleut "  (fellow  countrymen),  could  not  over- 
come a  natural  curiosity  to  hear  what  the  new  arrival 
had  to  say ;  for  such  resplendent  reports  of  his  vast 
wealth  reached  their  ears  that  they  felt  instinctively  he 
would  henceforth  be  an  important  factor  in  the  com- 
munity. 

By  eight  o'clock  the  Rabbi's  house  was  so  densely 
packed  that  Mr.  Rosenheim,  in  his  capacity  of  presi- 
dent, with  a  show  of  much  importance  and  an  appro- 
priate passage  from  the  Talmud,  suggested  transplanting 
the  meeting  into  the  adjoining  synagogue,  and  the  plan 
met  with  unanimous  approval. 

Isaac  and  Lena,  modestly  arrayed — for  they  had  not 
yet  had  an  opportunity  to  obtain  raiment  befitting  their 


The  Reception.  81 

new  station  in  life — stood  near  the  altar  and  distributed 
their  smiles,  nods  and  hand-shakes  impartially.  Rosen- 
heim,  as  president,  stood  on  the  right,  and  evinced  as 
much  interest  in  the  proceedings  as  though  he  were  the 
hero.  The  fact  that  he  had  been  the  first  to  recognize 
the  feasibility  of  Mr.  Schwartz's  scheme  and  to  con- 
tribute thereto,  and  the  unflagging  interest  he  had 
evinced  in  the  case  since  his  departure,  all  qualified 
him  to  speak  authoritatively  on  the  subject.  He  had 
learned  the  story  of  Isaac's  adventures  by  heart — that 
is  to  say,  as  much  as  Isaac  had  chosen  to  communicate 
to  him,  and  retailed  it  to  interested  groups  when  the 
chief  actor  was  otherwise  occupied. 

"  Yes,"  he  would  say.  "  I  tell  you  vot  it  is !  De  Vest 
is  a  fine  country — a  place  of  milk  and  honey,  like  de 
promised  land.  For  vot  do  de  children  of  Israel  vant 
to  go  back  to  Jerusalem?  Vy  don't  dey  go  to  Cali- 
fornia and  settle  dere  ?  It  is  mooch  more  sensible,  ain't 
it?  Vot  does  de  Talmud  say?  'Hakol  baruch.'  Veil, 
vot's  de  difference  vot  de  Talmud  says?  It  means, 
'  More  good  tings  vill  come  to  him  dat  hustles  dan  to 
him  dat  sits  down  and  vaits.' "  Having  delivered  him- 
self of  this  oracular  utterance,  he  turned  to  greet  the 
next  arrival,  with  an  equally  effective  speech  on  the 
marvelous  conditions  in  the  Far  West. 

At  Rosenheirn's  side,  and  listening  with  rapt  attention 
and  unwavering  admiration  to  every  word  he  uttered, 
stood  his  wife,  a  very  diminutive  specimen  of  humanity, 
who  contrasted  oddly  with  her  bulky  husband.  Philos- 
ophers who  argue  that  husband  and  wife  grow  to  resem- 
ble each  other  with  advancing  years,  found  nothing  in 
6 


82  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

this  strangely  assorted  pair  to  sustain  their  theories.  No 
greater  difference  could  be  imagined  than  existed  be- 
tween these  two  loving  souls.  He  was  tall,  stout,  florid 
and  vivacious;  she  was  small,  thin,  pale  and  silent. 
His  features  were  large  and  generous;  hers  were 
pinched  and  meagre.  But  spiritually  no  couple  were 
better  mated,  for  they  mutually  adored  each  other. 
Rosenheim  placed  his  wife  on  such  a  pedestal  of  love 
that  her  physical  discrepancies  were  not  apparent  to 
him,  and  she  considered  him,  with  all  his  faults,  the  em- 
bodiment of  perfection. 

As  Mrs.  Rosenheim  stood  listening  with  a  comprehen- 
sive smile  of  satisfaction  to  her  husband,  who  for  the 
twentieth  time  was  relating  the  story  of  Isaac  Schwartz's 
wanderings  and  commenting  thereon,  a  casual  observer 
would  have  surmised  that  the  clothing  merchant,  and 
not  Schwartz,  was  the  hero  of  these  strange  adventures. 

Mr.  Louis  Ehrlich  was  one  of  the  most  interested  of 
the  visitors.  With  his  characteristic  progressiveness,  he 
looked  upon  the  question  of  Schwartz's  explorations 
from  an  impersonal  standpoint,  and  endeavored  to  learn 
something  of  practical  utility. 

He  asked  numerous  questions  concerning  the  climate, 
the  resources  and  the  mode  of  transportation  in  the  new 
territory,  and  evinced  a  keen  interest  in  everything  Mr. 
Schwartz  had  to  say.  He  would  have  monopolized  the 
conversation  indefinitely  had  not  the  Rabbi  drawn  him 
away  to  discuss  some  improvement  in  the  conduct  of  the 
religious  schools.  Standing  in  that  little  synagogue, 
Mr.  Ehrlich  might  well  be  proud  of  the  improvements 
that  had  been  effected  in  the  short  time  since  he  became 


The  Reception.  83 

a  member  of  the  board.  New  hangings  had  been  pro- 
vided, the  standing  desks  had  made  room  for  sensible 
and  comfortable  seats,  and  mirabile  dictu,  a  small 
melodeon  stood  in  one  corner  near  the  ark,  and  on 
the  Sabbath  added  its  plaintive  voice  to  the  chant 
of  the  Chazzan.  These  innovations  had  been  strenu- 
ously opposed  by  Messrs.  Rosenheim,  Blumen,  and 
other  dignitaries  of  the  congregation,  but  the  im- 
petuous zeal  of  the  younger  man  eventually  prevailed. 
Now  that  the  novelty  of  the  improvements  had  worn 
off,  their  erstwhile  opponents  reluctantly  admitted 
their  desirability,  but  just  as  strenuously  objected  to 
any  new  improvements  that  Mr.  Ehrlich  saw  fit  to 
suggest. 

Not  the  least  of  the  assembled  guests  was  Mr.  Solo- 
mon Basch,  whose  wife,  thanks  to  a  bad  cold,  could  not 
accompany  him.  Such  a  stroke  of  luck  had  not  befallen 
the  good  man  in  years,  and  he  was  not  slow  in  taking 
advantage  of  it.  Basch  usually  developed  into  a  "  free- 
thinker "  when  away  from  his  wife.  He  was  as  lively 
as  a  school-boy  on  a  vacation. 

He,  in  the  person  of  his  wife,  had  contributed  a  dollar 
to  the  California  fund,  and  he  felt  justified  in  standing 
proudly  next  to  Schwartz  and  participating  in  the  gen- 
eral jubilation.  Indeed,  what  would  the  fund  have  been 
without  his  mite  ? 

"  You  will  never  believe,"  he  said  in  German,  with 
his  usual  admixture  of  "  Loshan  Hokodash "  (holy 
tongue),  "  how  much  l  kinne-sinne '  (envy)  I  felt  when 
you  went  away.  If  it  had  not  been  for  my  wife,  by  my 
soul,  I  would  have  gone  along."  He  might  have  truth- 


84  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

fully  added  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  wife,  he  would 
have  had  no  desire  to  go  along. 

"  Where  is  your  wife  ?  "     Schwartz  politely  asked. 

"  She  had  a  cold  and  insisted  in  talking,  and  so  got 
hoarse.  You  can't  stop  a  woman's  talk.  She  calls 
German  her  mother  tongue,  probably  because  the  father 
don't  get  a  chance  to  use  it.  She  took  some  goose-grease 
and  honey,  and  now,  'unbeschricn,'  she  can't  talk  at  all. 
I  think  I  will  buy  a  gallon  of  the  mixture.  It's  a  good 
thing  to  have  in  the  house." 

Schwartz  smiled.  "  You  would  have  enjoyed  Califor- 
nia," he  said  ;  "  there  are  no  women  there." 

"  Shema  benai ! "  ejaculated  Basch,  with  an  ecstatic 
glance,  "  what  a  paradise  !  Much  gold  and  no  women." 

"Yet  I  find  that,  after  all,  there  is  no  place  like 
home,"  said  Schwartz. 

"That's  so,"  murmured  the  poor,  down-trodden 
martyr.  "  There  is  no  place  like  home.  Men  ought 
to  be  happy  there,  isn't  ?  " 

Mr.  Basch,  having  exhausted  his  questions  concerning 
California,  went  over  to  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Fuld- 
heim,  who  had  recently  married,  and  gave  him  some 
excellent  advice  about  the  proper  training  of  a  wife. 

A  number  of  peddlers  were  among  the  visitors,  stal- 
wart young  fellows  but  lately  arrived  from  Germany, 
who,  with  a  heavy  pack  on  their  shoulders,  or,  if  their 
means  allowed,  with  horse  and  wagon,  wandered  through 
the  State,  hawking  a  varied  assortment  of  merchandise, 
and  seeking  to  master  the  American  tongue  while  they 
accumulated  American  dollars.  It  was  a  hard  experi- 
ence, but  a  salutary  one.  For  the  pious  Jews,  peddling 


The  Reception.  85 

meant  untold  privations,  a  total  abstinence  of  all  food 
except  eggs  and  such  "Kosher"  dried  meats  as  they 
could  carry  with  them.  It  meant  a  weary  trudging 
through  unfamiliar  villages,  over  stony  roads,  amid 
hostile  surroundings,  from  Sunday  morning  until  Friday 
evening,  and  a  short  rest  on  the  Sabbath  in  some  syna- 
gogue town. 

It  was  a  career  which  might  well  have  daunted  the 
most  enterprising  youth,  and  yet  thousands  of  "green- 
horns "  adopted  it,  thrived  at  it,  became  wealthy  through 
it.  It  was  not  considered  degrading  in  those  pioneer 
days,  but  eminently  proper  for  a  new  arrival. 

A  little  group  of  these  young  men  edged  their  way  to 
where  Mr.  Schwartz  stood,  and  eagerly  asked  scores  of 
questions  concerning  the  El  Dorado  and  the  prospects 
of  success. 

"  I  have  a  notion,"  said  one,  after  listening  to 
Schwartz,  "  to  throw  away  my  pack  and  join  the  first 
caravan  going  West.  Peddling  is  too  slow  for  me. 
What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mr.  Schwartz  ?" 

Isaac  sighed  heavily.  He  thought  of  the  days  when 
he  was  a  poor  wanderer,  with  a  ravenous  appetite  and 
a  clear  conscience. 

"  I  believe,"  he  said,  "  I  should  have  been  happier 
had  I  remained  a  peddler." 

"  Yes ;  but  the  drudgery  and  toil !  They  rob  one  of 
one's  self-respect." 

"  They  are  but  a  fraction  of  the  drudgery  and  the 
toil  you  will  experience  in  the  West.  There  are  thou- 
sands of  shattered  and  starving  fellows  in  California  who 
would  be  glad  to  exchange  their  prospects  for  your  own." 


86  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

And  Schwartz  related  to  the  intensely  interested  lis- 
teners some  of  his  own  dismal  experiences. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bergthal  were  among  the  first  to  arrive 
and  the  last  to  leave.  Mr.  Bergthal  had  a  kind  word, 
in  broken  English,  for  every  one  except  Rosenheim, 
whom  he  treated  with  a  disdain  befitting  a  despised 
rival.  He  took  great  pains  to  dwell,  in  Rosenheim's 
hearing,  upon  the  wonderful  increase  in  his  sales  during 
the  past  week,  and  to  swear  that  "nodding  on  earth 
alretty  could  indooce  him  his  cloding  piziness  to  gif  up 
und  go  to  dose  gold  fields  of  California." 

"  Did  dot  suit  I  gif  you  vore  veil  ?"  he  asked  of 
Schwartz. 

"  Indeed  it  did,"  replied  the  latter.  "  I  wore  it  during 
my  entire  stay  in  the  West.  I  couldn't  wear  it  out." 

"Aha!"  cried  Bergthal,  joyfully.  "Vot  did  I  told 
you  ?  Dot  suit  vos  der  finest  all-voll  cassimere  I  had 
in  der  store.  It  costed  me  eight  dollars  und  fifty  cents, 
und  vos  a  bargain.  Rosenheim  nefer  had  any  goods 
like  dot—" 

Mr.  Bergthal  suddenly  interrupted  his  eulogistic 
speech,  which  might  have  been  continued  indefinitely. 
His  nervous  glance  had  for  a  moment  rested  on  a  corner 
beneath  the  gallery,  and  had  there  espied,  sitting  com- 
fortably side  by  side,  his  daughter  Emma  and  Izzy,  the 
son  of  Rosenheim.  They  were  chatting  like  old  friends, 
utterly  regardless  of  the  animosity  which  existed  between 
their  respective  fathers.  Emma  was  a  pretty  girl  of 
eighteen,  very  blonde  and  very  animated.  Izzy  was  a 
rubicund  young  man  of  twenty,  with  a  face  and  form 
closely  resembling  his  father's,  a  bright,  healthy  nature, 


The  Reception.  87 

with  a  decided  penchant  for  the  lively  girl  with  whom  he 
sat,  in  utter  unconsciousness  of  the  approaching  storm. 

"Oxcuse  me  a  moment,"  said  Jacob  Bergthal  to  Mr. 
Schwartz.  "  I  vant  to  spheak  mit  my  daughter  a  vord." 

He  pushed  his  way  through  the  throng  of  guests  to 
where  his  daughter  sat  and  seized  her  arm. 

"  So  !  Dot's  der  vay  you  behind  my  back  act,  eh  ? 
Have  I  not  told  you  alretty  I  don't  vant  none  of  my 
family  mit  Rosenheim's  family  to  have  any t'ing  to  do  ? 
Young  man,  mind  your  own  bissness,  und  don't  bodcter 
your  head  about  Bergthal's  Mammoth  Cloding  Empor- 
ium, or  his  daughter,  eeder.  Emma,  come  mit  me 
along.  If  I  keteh  you  again  mit  dot  feller  talking,  I 
keep  you  locked  up  in  der  house  on  bread  and  vater." 

Emma  looked  at  Izzy  in  consternation  and  embar- 
rassment ;  but  Izzy  only  laughed.  He  was  accustomed 
to  Bergthal's  eccentricities. 

"  Never  mind,  Emma,"  he  said ;  "  don't  take  it  to 
heart."  And  then  he  added,  in  a  whisper,  "I'll  see 
you  later  in  the  vestry." 

But  Emma  found  no  opportunity  for  visiting  the 
vestry,  for  her  father  kept  her  under  strict  surveillance 
during  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  confined  his  conver- 
sation with  her  to  a  severe  berating  of  all  that  bore  the 
name  of  Rosenheim. 

Mr.  Blumen,  the  treasurer  of  the  synagogue,  and  a 
well-to-do  manufacturer  of  mantillas,  stood  quite  a  long 
time  in  conversation  with  the  returned  hero,  and  patron- 
izingly asked  his  views  concerning  the  future  prospects 
of  the  Western  territory.  He  was  a  pompous,  portly 
old  man,  and  it  cost  Schwartz  quite  an  effort  to  talk 


88  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

with  him  when  he  remembered  how  often  he  had 
appealed  to  him  in  vain  for  work  or  encouragement  in 
the  days  of  his  poverty.  Indeed,  Schwartz  smiled  sor- 
rowfully as  he  recalled  how  the  very  men  who  had  for- 
merly passed  him  by  indifferently  or  with  contempt, 
now  flocked  to  greet  him  and  to  curry  his  favor.  The 
worship  of  the  golden  calf  still  had  its  votaries. 

Barring  the  discomfiture  of  Izzy  and  Emma,  it  may 
be  truthfully  recorded  that  the  reception  was  an  unquali- 
fied success  for  every  one  in  that  crowded  assembly, 
except  for  Mr.  Schwartz,  in  whose  honor  it  was  prepared. 
The  old  ladies  and  gentlemen  gossiped,  exchanged 
opinions  about  business,  and  marveled  at  Isaac's  provi- 
dential success.  The  youths  and  maidens,  who  were 
there  in  goodly  numbers,  sat  in  the  new  pews  or  stood 
in  the  shadow  of  the  old  gallery,  and  indulged  in  pleas- 
ant chat  or  innocent  flirtation,  as  is  the  custom  with 
youths  and  maidens  the  world  over,  even  unto  this  day. 

The  Rabbi  and  his  wife  flitted  from  group  to  group, 
entertaining  here,  expounding  there,  advising  the  old, 
admonishing  the  young.  Everybody  enjoyed  the  eve- 
ning to  its  utmost,  except  Mr.  Schwartz.  Though  he 
strove  to  be  at  ease  and  do  his  duty  heroically,  his  brain 
was  clouded,  as  if  by  some  blood-stained  mist ;  his  head 
was  bowed,  as  if  by  the  weight  of  some  great  trouble. 
He  spoke  in  a  voice  subdued  and  quivering  with  emo- 
tion. He  glanced  with  fear  and  misgiving  upon  the 
many  friends  who  clasped  his  hand.  His  spirit  was 
crushed,  his  conscience  tortured,  and  he  mentally  cursed 
the  night  that  brought  the  inspiration  to  tempt  fortune 
in  the  gold  fields  of  California. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   NEW  LIFE. 

"  Wise  men  ne'er  sit  and  wail  their  loss, 
But  cheerily  seek  how  to  redress  their  harms." 

— Shakespeare. 

A  NEW  life  dawned  for  the  Schwartz  family — a  life 
compared  to  which  their  former  existence  appeared 
miserable  indeed.  On  leaving  the  diggings,  Isaac  had 
carried  his  treasure  to  C ,  where  he  found  a  pur- 
chaser for  the  metal,  and  exchanged  it  readily  for 
bills  of  exchange  and  crisp  bank  notes.  His  first 
errand,  on  the  day  following  his  return,  was  to  deposit 
his  fortune  temporarily  in  one  of  the  city  banks ;  his 
next  thought  was  to  rent  and  furnish  a  modest  house, 
into  which  he  would  move  his  little  family.  To  this 
Mrs.  Franzman  strenuously  objected. 

"  Not  yet,  Isaac/'  she  said.  "  Wait  a  few  weeks,  until 
you  are  rested.  Lena  has  been  a  sister  to  me,  and  I 
cannot  have  her  leave  at  a  moment's  notice.  It  will 
take  me  some  time  to  get  accustomed  to  the  idea.  In 
the  meantime  you  and  your  family  must  remain  with 
me  as  my  guests." 

Lena  embraced  her  friend,  and  so  the  matter  was 
satisfactorily  settled. 

For  a  few  days  Isaac  indulged  in  absolute  idleness, 
but  this  life  soon  began  to  pall  upon  him.  The  demon 

89 


90  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

of  unrest  took  possession  of  his  soul.  There  was  a 
secret  gnawing  at  his  vitals,  a  voice  of  accusation  ring- 
ing day  and  night  in  his  ears.  He  would  work,  and  in 
the  fervor  of  his  labors  he  would  forget  the  terrors  of 
the  past.  He  therefore  looked  about  him  for  a  safe 
investment  for  his  money.  It  was  a  serious  matter  to 
decide.  Wealth  which  had  been  acquired  with  so  much 
difficulty  and  at  such  a  price,  dared  not  be  invested 
carelessly. 

"  Why  not  open  a  bank  ?"  said  Lena,  in  whose  eyes 
the  fortune  was  gigantic  and  sufficient  for  any  enter- 
prise. 

"  No ;  I  do  not  understand  banking." 

"A  factory,  then,  of  some  kind?" 

"No;  that,  too,  requires  training  and  a  knowledge 
of  the  article  to  be  manufactured." 

"  Begin  a  Talmud  school,  and  advertise  for  pupils," 
said  Lena,  in  jest.  "  That  is  something  you  ought  to 
understand." 

"I'm  beginning  to  forget  even  that,"  he  replied; 
then  added,  reflectively,  "  I  think  I'll  open  a  shop  in 
a  modest  way,  and  work  myself  into  opulence.  It  is 
the  only  thing  I  am  fitted  for." 

At  this  juncture  Lena  suddenly  remembered  Mrs. 
Franzman's  conversation  relative  to  selling  out  her 
shop,  and  she  imparted  the  information  to  her  husband. 

"  If  you  could  induce  her  to  sell  her  business  to  you," 
she  said,  "  I  don't  think  you  would  have  cause  to  regret 
it.  It  is  an  excellent  stand.  Besides,  I  have  taken  a 
fancy  to  millinery,  and  you  should  see  what  an  expert 
I  have  become  in  the  art  of  trimming  bonnets." 


The  New  Life.  91 

"  The  idea  is  not  a  bad  one,"  said  Isaac ;  "  but,  take 
my  word  for  it,  Pauline  was  not  in  earnest,  and  will 
not  consent  to  give  up  so  profitable  a  shop." 

"We  will  speak  to  her  about  it  in  the  morning," 
replied  Lena;  and  the  subject  was  dismissed  for  the 
night. 

Pauline,  too,  had  been  lying  awake,  thinking  of  her 
business  cares. 

"If  I  could  only  get  out  of  it  without  loss,"  she 
mused,  "  and  devote  my  time  to  my  children  !  Ray  is 
old  enough  to  go  to  school,  and  Dave  needs  a  mother's 
watchful  care.  I  am  tired  of  being  bound  to  the  store. 
Now  if  the  Schwartzes  would  only  take  my  stock  and 
lease  off  of  my  hands,  I  would  be  satisfied ;  but  I  sup- 
pose they  have  more  ambitious  plans.  However,  I'll 
speak  to  them  in  the  morning." 

Owing  to  the  unanimity  of  the  contracting  parties, 
Isaac  and  Pauline  were  not  long  in  coming  to  an  agree- 
ment. Within  a  week,  and  in  consideration  of  a  certain 
sum,  Mrs.  Franzman  made  over  and  sold  to  Mr. 
Schwartz  her  entire  stock,  fixtures  and  good-will.  It 
was  a  decided  bargain ;  but  Pauline  had  some  funds  hi 
bank,  and  could  live  comfortably.  Now  that  Lena 
might  desert  her  at  any  moment,  the  necessity  to  be 
with  her  children  became  imperative,  and  the  voice  of 
love  spoke  more  eloquently  than  the  prospect  of  further 
gain. 

A  few  days  later  Isaac  entered  into  possession  of  his 
new  business.  The  old,  familiar  sign  was  taken  down 
and  repainted,  and  an  announcement  in  the  "Daily 
Herald  "  proclaimed  the  change  to  an  interested  public. 


92  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Mrs.  Franzman  and  her  family  remained  in  their  old 
home  for  some  weeks  longer,  and  then  moved  into  pri- 
vate life  in  an  up-town  dwelling. 

With  the  advent  of  new  capital  and  a  more  vigorous 
management,  the  little  store  began  to  flourish  beyond 
precedent.  Lena  had  become  a  favorite  with  the  old 
customers,  and  they  gladly  transferred  their  patronage 
to  the  new  firm.  The  business  grew  daily.  The  room 
behind  the  store  was  crowded  with  milliners  and  trim- 
mers, whose  labor  was  taxed  day  and  night  to  fill  the 
orders  which  fairly  poured  in.  The  shelves  were  filled 
with  new  and  attractive  goods ;  the  show-windows  were 
replete  with  novelties.  The  new  master  made  his 
purchases  with  absolute  recklessness.  There  was  no- 
thing he  would  not  buy  if  he  took  a  fancy  to  it — no 
quantity  too  large  for  his  wants,  if  the  price  was  reason- 
able. Strange  to  say,  he  created  a  demand  for  the 
goods  he  bought,  however  unsaleable  they  may  have 
been  at  first.  Before  many  weeks  had  passed  the  shop 
became  a  household  word.  People  flocked  to  its  doors 
from  idle  curiosity,  and  once  within  its  walls,  they 
bought  what  they  had  come  only  to  inspect.  For  bold- 
ness of  style  and  novelty  of  management  the  establish- 
ment had  no  peer.  The  old  fogies  on  the  street  shook 
their  heads  and  predicted  disaster. 

"  He  has  a  little  money  and  thinks  it  will  last  for- 
ever," said  Mr.  Blumen ;  "  but  wait  till  he  goes  to  the 
wall,  and  then  it  will  be  our  turn  to  laugh." 

"  Ya !  "  said  Rosenheim,  envious  of  such  phenomenal 
success.  "  I  tell  you  vot  it  is.  He  thinks  he  has  a 
fortune,  und  dot  it  lasts  forever;  but  he'll  find  out 


The  New  Life.  93 

his  mistake.  Vot  does  der  Talmud  say  ?  '  Kashim 
Mezonosof. '  Veil,  vot's  de  difference  vot  de  Talmud 
says  ?  It  means,  '  It  is  pooty  hard  to  climb  up  in  de 
vorld/  but  it  hurts  more  to  climb  down  again.' " 

Even  Solomon  Basch  shook  his  head  woefully  every 
time  he  passed  the  store,  and  predicted  disaster.  He 
remonstrated  one  day  with  Mr.  Schwartz,  advising  him 
to  be  more  conservative  in  his  dealings.  "  For,"  said 
he,  "  next  to  having  a  shrewish  wife,  the  worst  possible 
calamity  is  the  loss  of  one's  fortune." 

Schwartz  thanked  him  for  his  good  advice,  but  con- 
tinued in  his  mad  career. 

"Well,  I  warned  him,"  said  Basch  to  his  wife, 
"  and  if  anything  happens  he  can't  blame  me.  He 
must  bear  the  consequences  of  his  own  folly." 

And,  for  the  first  time  since  the  Rabbi  had  joined 
them,  Mrs.  Basch  agreed  with  her  husband. 

Mr.  Bergthal  and  Mr.  Basch  devoted  an  entire  eve- 
ning to  a  discussion  of  Schwartz's  recklessness,  and  the 
result  was  the  prediction  of  certain  failure. 

"  Dere  is  most  men,"  said  Bergthal,  oracularly,  "  vot 
is  born  vidoud  a  cend  in  der  pockets,  und  some  men 
often  dies  dot  vay,  too.  I'm  afraid  dot's  de  vay  it  vill 
be  mid  Schwartz." 

In  which  sentiment  Basch  fully  concurred,  and 
secretly  regretted  the  dollar  he  had  contributed  to  a 
career  which  could  only  end  in  ruin  and  misfortune. 

In  spite  of  such  dismal  predictions,  Isaac  persevered 
in  his  course.  He  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  business. 
From  early  morning  till  late  at  night  he  was  unceasingly 
employed.  He  threw  himself  into  his  work  with 


94  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

feverish  agitation,  as  though  it  were  torture  for  him  to 
be  alone  with  his  thoughts.  In  vain  his  wife  pleaded 
with  him  to  allow  himself  a  little  recreation ;  he  could 
not  rest. 

"  You  will  make  yourself  ill,"  she  urged  ;  "  and  then 
the  business  will  be  neglected." 

"  Leave  me  alone,  Lena,"  he  replied.  "  The  store 
needs  watching.  It  is  growing,  and,  like  a  growing 
child,  demands  constant  attention.  Without  it,  it  would 
languish.  I  am  only  happy  when  I  am  at  work." 

So  he  toiled  on  restlessly,  incessantly ;  and  when  night 
fell,  slumber  came  unbidden,  and  the  tired  head  and 
weary  heart  had  a  brief  respite  from  sorrow.  In  truth, 
work  seemed  to  agree  with  him.  He  was  growing  stout 
and  strong.  His  former  debility  had  entirely  left  him. 
Lena  noted  the  change  with  delight ;  but  there  was  one 
thing  which  still  worried  and  puzzled  her,  and  that  was 
the  sinister  expression  of  her  husband's  eyes.  She 
would  often  watch  him  furtively,  and  rack  her  brain  to 
divine  its  cause.  If  he  were  idle  but  for  a  moment, 
there  came  over  his  face  a  look  so  woeful  and  terrified,  so 
piteous  and  pleading,  as  though  he  were  gazing  upon  an 
awful  spectre  which  would  not  be  dismissed.  Deep 
lines  of  pain  would  harrow  his  brow  and  cheeks,  and 
his  figure  seemed  to  shrink  and  abase  itself,  as  though  it 
were  undergoing  torture. 

Months  passed,  and  the  business  continued  to  grow. 
Before  Schwartz  had  been  in  possession  half  a  year,  the 
premises  were  far  too  small  for  the  requirements  of  the 
patrons.  It  became  necessary  to  buy  the  adjoining 
store  and  throw  the  two  into  one ;  and  this  improvement 


The  New  Life.  95 

gave  the  establishment  an  impetus  which  far  exceeded 
the  expectations  of  those  who  had  watched  its  marvel- 
ous growth.  Isaac  and  his  family  moved  into  a  spa- 
cious residence  among  the  elite  on  Pearl  Street. 

"  What  a  lucky  man  that  Schwartz  is  ! "  was  heard 
on  every  side.  "  What  an  excellent  manager  ! " 

Had  they  but  known !  It  was  not  Isaac's  careful 
management,  but  his  utter  recklessness  that  led  to  this 
result.  He  would  have  been  content  to  lose  the  fortune 
which  weighed  so  heavily  upon  his  soul.  He  had 
learned  to  hate  the  thought  of  money.  The  jingle  of 
gold  awakened  recollections  which  drove  him  to  despair. 
He  squandered  it  madly ;  but  it  invariably  returned  to 
him  greatly  augmented.  Oh,  what  a  world  of  grief 
that  money  was  to  him !  If  he  had  but  left  the  bag  of 
gold  buried  in  the  earth  beneath  the  cabin,  what  an 
agony  of  remorse  he  would  have  escaped  ! 

He  became  absolutely  foolhardy  in  his  expenditures. 
He  withdrew  a  princely  sum  from  his  business  and 
spent  it  upon  an  almost  worthless  railroad  stock,  which 
prudent  speculators  would  not  touch.  The  money  was 
scarcely  invested  before  the  market  took  a  turn,  and  the 
stock  rose,  and  continued  rising,  contrary  to  all  expec- 
tations. At  the  end  of  two  months  Schwartz  had  dou- 
bled the  wealth  invested.  Gold — despised,  detested, 
execrated  gold — rained  upon  him.  Speculations  which 
would  have  frightened  a  cautious  capitalist,  and  which 
oifered  every  prospect  of  a  prompt  and  consider- 
able loss,  recovered,  as  if  by  magic,  when  Schwartz 
embarked  in  them.  Gradually  speculation  became  a 
necessity  to  the  harassed  man.  His  business,  extensive 


96  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

as  it  was,  was  no  longer  sufficient  to  occupy  his  mind 
and  divert  it  from  its  morbid  brood  ings.  His  nature 
craved  forgetfulness  of  the  sinister  idea  that  poisoned 
his  existence.  There  was  no  escape  but  in  excitement, 
and  the  feverish  restlessness  which  he  displayed  served 
but  to  increase  his  wealth,  and  thereby  to  add  to  the 
burden  of  his  curse.  Before  he  had  been  at  home 
twelve  months  he  found  his  original  fortune  quadrupled. 
He  was  a  rich  man,  indeed — a  Midas,  whose  touch  con- 
verted into  gold. 

If  Isaac  was  an  altered  man  in  regard  to  his  material 
prospects,  he  was  still  more  deplorably  changed  in  his 
religious  views.  His  wonderful  activity  in  money- 
making  left  him  little  time  and  less  inclination  for  the 
exercise  of  his  religious  duties.  From  the  day  he  had 
left  the  diggings  he  had  apparently  become  indifferent 
to  the  rites  and  ceremonies  which  had  formerly  exer- 
cised so  great  an  influence  over  his  life.  The  relics 
which  he  had  brought  with  him  from  the  cabin — his 
phylacteries  and  prayer  book — filled  him  with  super- 
stitious dread,  and  he  buried  them  at  the  bottom  of  a 
closet.  He  neglected  his  daily  devotions.  His  morbid 
mind  conceived  the  idea  that  prayer  from  the  lips  of 
such  an  offender  would  be  unacceptable  to  the  Lord,  and 
would  rebound  from  the  door  of  heaven  a  curse. 
Instead  of  religion,  superstition  held  him  in  her  relent- 
less embrace,  and  though  his  better  judgment  sought  to 
shake  off  its  influence,  he  found  himself  deeper  in  its 
grasp  day  by  day. 

The  dietary  laws,  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath,  the- 
many  ceremonies  which  he  had  observed  since  boyhood, 


The  New  Life.  97 

and  whose  beauty  he  had  so  frequently  extolled,  were 
distorted  by  his  disordered  imagination  into  senseless 
rubbish ;  and  he  who  had  so  loved  the  Torah  and  the 
Talmud  now  scarcely  bestowed  a  thought  upon  Judaism. 
His  mental  perturbation  sought  relief  in  the  silliest  direc- 
tions, such  as  fumbling  nervously  with  his  coat  buttons, 
touching  chairs  and  tables  in  certain  superstitious  ways 
while  speaking,  and  interpreting  the  most  commonplace 
events  into  portentous  omens.  At  times  he  felt  ashamed 
of  his  actions  before  his  employes,  his  wife  and  his 
children,  but  his  intellect  seemed  entirely  enchained  by 
superstition,  from  which  he  could  not  by  any  possibility 
free  himself. 

He  shuddered  at  the  recollection  of  his  awful  deed. 
He  shuddered  at  the  most  trivial  incident  that  recalled 
his  crime.  A  sound  unnerved  him.  His  agitated  mind 
seemed  constantly  laboring  with  its  terrible  secret,  to 
divulge  which  he  had  not  the  requisite  courage.  He 
seemed  in  perpetual  struggle  with  the  grim  spectre  of 
fear. 

He  was  constantly  recalling  the  past,  viewing  its  hor- 
rible culmination  through  an  exaggerated  atmosphere  of 
excitement  and  horror.  He  was  often  bent  on  making 

o 

a  confession  to  his  wife,  but  as  often  recoiled,  for  he 
dreaded  the  effect  it  might  have  on  her.  His  cowardly 
conscience  rebelled  against  its  better  judgment,  and  the 
secret  lay  locked  within  his  own  breast,  growing,  gnaw- 
ing, distorting  his  conception  of  everything. 

He  dreaded  solitude,  for  in  isolation  the  spectre  of  the 
murdered  man  was  ever  at  his  side.     He  had  an  equal 
dread  of  society,  for  he  had  a  morbid  impression  that 
7 


98  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

his  secret  betrayed  itself  in  his  face  or  in  a  gesture.  He 
shunned  the  companionship  of  his  former  acquaintances, 
arid  spent  most  of  his  evenings  at  home.  Gloomy  even- 
ings they  were.  Lena  tried  at  first  to  cheer  him  up,  to 
read  to  him,  to  discover  the  cause  of  his  sorrow ;  but, 
failing  to  influence  him,  she  resigned  herself  patiently, 
and  devoted  herself  to  her  children. 

One  evening  Isaac  was  more  despondent  than  ordina- 
rily. Joe  and  Rose  had  tried  in  vain  to  make  their 
father  laugh,  but  grief  was  gnawing  at  his  heart,  and 
he  was  in  no  mood  to  enter  into  their  artless  sports. 

"Come,  children,"  Lena  said;  "papa  is  tired,  and  you 
are  annoying  him.  Let  me  put  you  to  bed." 

"  Papa  don't  play  with  us  like  he  used  to,"  said  Joe, 
resentfully,  as  he  left  the  room. 

Lena  sighed.  "  Times  are  changed,  indeed,"  she 
thought.  She  rarely  heard  a  pleasant  word  from  her 
husband  now. 

Isaac  sighed,  too,  as  he  overheard  his  son's  remark. 

"  Ah,  if  I  could  be  as  light-hearted  as  I  once  was," 
he  murmured.  "  But  there  can  be  no  happiness  for  me." 

When  Lena  returned,  she  found  her  husband  listlessly 
turning  the  pages  of  a  book,  while  his  eyes  seemed  to  be 
gazing  miles  away. 

"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask,  dear,"  said  Lena,  drawing  a 
chair  close  to  his  side. 

Isaac  recalled  his  wandering  spirit  with  a  start. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Promise  me  in  advance  that  you  will  not  refuse." 

"  I  promise,"  he  answered,  with  a  weary  smile,  strok- 
ing his  wife's  head  affectionately. 


The  New  Life.  99 

"Do  you  remember  when  we  left  Germany,  how 
anxious  your  sister  Bertha  was  to  go  with  us?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

"And  how  we  promised  her  that  when  we  were 
wealthy,  we  would  write  for  her  to  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  poor  girl." 

"  I  want  you  to  let  your  sister  come  to  us." 

"  Why,  Lena,  what  a  sudden  notion  ! " 

"  Not  at  all  sudden.  I  have  been  thinking  it  over 
for  weeks.  What  chance  is  there  in  Bavaria  for  a  girl 
like  Bertha  ?  She  is  pretty,  'tis  true,  but  poor.  Your 
father  has  lost  the  greater  portion  of  his  wealth.  A  girl 
in  Germany  must  have  a  dowry  in  order  to  marry  well." 

"  You  had  none,  Lena." 

"  I  was  an  exception.    You  took  me  for  love." 

"  And,  after  all,  you  didn't  marry  well." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  replied  Lena,  gazing  fondly  at  her 
husband. 

Isaac's  eyes  grew  brighter  as  he  thought  of  that  long 
and  happy  courtship  in  the  old  country,  the  merry 
walks  in  the  forest,  the  longing  to  get  married,  the 
secret  wedding.  He  drew  his  wife  to  him  and  kissed 
her  lovingly.  Lena  continued  with  the  subject  in  hand. 

"  Even  if  she  could  find  a  husband,"  she  said,  "  she 
might  wait  for  years  before  she  could  get  permission 
from  the  authorities  to  marry.  Let  her  come  to  America. 
We  can  provide  for  her  nicely.  See  what  a  help  she 
will  be  to  me  about  the  house." 

"  I  will  think  about  it." 

"  No ;  you  promised  in  advance  to  accede.  You  owe 
it  to  your  sister  to  do  something  for  her." 


100  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

""Will  you  and  she  get  along  well  together?" 

"  I  will  take  care  of  that.  Bertha  and  I  were  always 
fast  friends.  She  shall  be  a  dear  sister  to  me." 

Isaac  stroked  his  beard  and  thought  it  over. 

"  The  children  require  more  attention  than  formerly," 
urged  Lena,  "  and  I  have  my  hands  full.  Bertha  will 
be  a  great  help  to  me." 

Poor  Lena  had  another  more  potent  reason,  which 
she  left  untold.  Her  husband,  in  his  moments  of  de- 
spondency, neglected  her  sadly.  She  had  long  felt 
uneasy  at  his  idiosyncrasies,  and  at  times  was  very 
unhappy.  Bertha  would  be  a  companion,  a  confidant, 
and  she  yearned  for  the  coming  of  her  sister-in-law. 

"I've  no  doubt  you  are  right,"  said  Isaac,  after 
mentally  viewing  the  project.  "She  will  be  a  com- 
panion to  both  of  us.  I  will  write  to  her  at  once." 

The  letter  was  dispatched  next  day,  with  an  enclosure 
sufficient  to  defray  all  expenses  incidental  to  the  trip, 
and  a  generous  gift  to  old  Schwartz  as  a  balm  to  heal 
the  wound  caused  by  his  daughter's  departure.  Bertha 
did  not  require  much  persuasion.  The  return  of  mail 
brought  an  affirmative  response,  and  four  weeks  later 
Bertha  set  foot  upon  the  blessed  shores  of  America. 
Isaac  journeyed  to  New  York  to  receive  his  sister,  and 
brought  her  home  in  triumph. 


CHAPTEE    VII. 

THE      NEW      ARRIVAL. 

"Heart  on  her  lips,  and  soul  within  her  eyes, 
Soft  as  her  clime  and  sunny  as  her  skies." — Byron. 

THROUGH  the  length  and  breadth  of  busy  Cedar 
Street — yea,  even  in  the  homes  of  the  haughty  Seph- 
ardim  Jews — Bertha  was  the  theme  of  conversation, 
and  was  welcomed  with  genuine  admiration ;  for  Bertha 
was  a  striking  addition  to  the  ranks  of  Jewish  maidens 

in  B .  There  are  as  many  types  of  beauty  as  there 

are  individuals,  and  each  of  them  may  have  the  power 
to  turn  some  good  man's  head  and  cause  him  to  develop 
some  latent  talent  for  folly.  Bertha's  face,  on  the 
evening  of  her  reception,  turned  the  heads  of  almost 
the  entire  male  contingent. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  record,  in  simple  truth,  that 
Bertha's  eyes  were  dark  and  roguish  under  their  long 
lashes ;  that  her  cheeks  were  rosy,  verging  towards  the 
florid ;  that  dimples  formed  little  Cupid-nests  near  her 
chin ;  that  her  hair  was  jet  black,  and  fell  in  natural 
ringlets  about  her  shapely  neck ;  that  her  hands  were 
the  prettiest  imaginable,  her  form  graceful  and  her 
bearing  regal.  Had  you  been  there  on  that  memorable 
evening,  you  would  have  seen  all  this,  and  more ;  for 
Bertha  was  indescribable.  One  could  no  more  draw  a 

101 


102  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

word-picture  of  her  than  describe  a  summer  day  in  all 
its  warmth  and  luscious  charm.  But,  having  once  lived 
through  such  a  day,  its  memory  will  cling  to  you  for- 
ever; the  scent  of  the  hay,  the  humming  of  the  bees, 
the  song  of  the  lark,  the  ripple  of  the  stream  will 
always  linger  in  your  recollection.  And  so  it  was  with 
Bertha.  Hers  was  no  simpering  beauty,  no  affected 
posing,  but  a  sturdy,  healthy,  simple  loveliness — a 
charm  to  the  beholder. 

In  matters  of  education,  too,  Bertha  was  under  no 
disadvantage.  She  had  been  fortunate  in  winning  the 
friendship  of  the  Burgomaster's  daughter  in  her  native 
village,  and  with  her  had  benefited  by  the  instruc- 
tions of  a  governess  of  no  mean  ability.  Her  active 
mind  had  quickly  grasped  whatever  was  presented,  and 
turned  every  scrap  of  information  to  excellent  account. 
She  sang  with  a  weak,  but  accurate  and  harmonious 
voice,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  her  new  acquaintances, 
spoke  a  little  English,  with  a  broad  Teutonic  accent, 
but  distinctly  enough  to  be  understood.  She  had,  more- 
over, a  spontaneous  sense  of  her  own  ability,  and  felt 
thoroughly  at  home  in  any  situation.  When  intro- 
duced to  the  many  individuals  who  called  to  pay  their 
respects,  she  quickly  and  without  effort  adjusted  herself 
to  her  new  acquaintances,  and  acted  as  though  she  had 
been  brought  up  with  them  from  tender  infancy. 

Although  there  were  many  pretty  girls  present,  there 
was  not  one  comparable  to  Bertha  in  personal  attrac- 
tion, in  easy  grace  of  manner,  in  charm  of  conversation. 
Both  Isaac  and  Lena,  whose  recollection  of  their  sister 
was  limited  to  her  childhood  days,  were  astonished  at 


The  New  Arrival.  103 

her  appearance,  and  gratified  at  the  impression  she  made 
on  her  new  circle  of  associates. 

The  old  folks,  from  portly  Mr.  Rosenheim  and  his 
diminutive  wife  down  to  the  least  significant  of  the 
members  of  the  congregation,  were  loud  in  her  praise ; 
the  young  girls  all  evinced  their  eagerness  to  become 
her  friends  and  confidantes ;  and  as  to  the  young  men, 
they  stood  for  the  most  part  shyly  aloof,  and  surveyed 
her  radiant  German  cheeks  with  feelings  ranging  from 
intense  interest  to  positive  admiration.  Never  was  re- 
ception more  successful. 

Mr.  Ehrlich  had  early  evinced  a  desire  to  monopolize 
Bertha's  society,  and,  much  to  the  displeasure  of  several 
other  gentlemen,  stood  by  her  side  and  conversed  with 
her  on  topics  of  his  own  selection. 

"Your  brother  tells  me  you  sing  well,"  said  Ehrlich. 
"  May  we  not  hope  that  you  will  favor  us  with  a  song  ?" 

"  The  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  voice  is  weak,"  Bertha 
replied,  smiling.  "Like  Faust,  I  yearn  to  reach  the 
unattainable.  Some  day  I  may  sing  for  you,  but  do 
not  want  to  jeopardize  my  popularity  so  soon  after  my 
arrival." 

"  From  what  I  have  heard,  I  feel  sure  you  underrate 
your  abilities,"  said  Ehrlich.  "  I  see  you  have  read 
Goethe.  He  is  my  favorite  author." 

"And  mine,"  replied  the  girl,  earnestly.  "All  Ger- 
many admires  Goethe.  There  are  few  people  of  culture 
who  have  not  wept  with  his  Werther,  grieved  with  his 
Gretchen,  and  smiled  with  his  Dorothea.  Even  in  our 
little  village  Goethe  is  a  demi-god." 

"  You  have  evidently  read  much,"  said  Ehrlich. 


104  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Not  as  much  as  I  should  have  liked  to  read.  Our 
Jewish  parents  still  frown  upon  any  secular  studies  as 
being  dangerous  to  our  spiritual  well-being.  Hebrew 
lore  still  forms  the  staple  of  our  instruction.  I  am  glad, 
however,  that  the  younger  generation  is  breaking  away 
from  musty  traditions,  and  setting  up  new  standards. 
The  most  omnivorous  readers  in  the  small  localities 
are  Jewish  youths  and  maidens.  In  our  village  we 
formed  a  circulating  library  several  years  ago,  and  read 
whatever  we  could  obtain." 

"  That  is  good  news,"  exclaimed  Ehrlich,  with  an  in- 
tonation of  delight.  "  I  had  feared  that  the  spark  of 
progress  that  had  been  struck  in  German  Judaism  had 
died  out  for  lack  of  fuel.  If  our  people  once  read  and 
take  an  interest  in  matters  outside  of  the  Torah  and  Tal- 
mud, there  is  hope  of  a  renaissance  of  all  that  is  best 
and  purest  in  the  world's  religion.  We  were  the  '  People 
of  the  Book.'  I  should  like  to  see  Israel  become  the 
1  People  of  Books.'  Let  the  Jews  once  begin  to  absorb 
knowledge,  as  they  did  centuries  ago,  and  they  will  be- 
come the  conquerers  of  the  earth  through  sheer  force  of 
their  superior  intellect." 

Bertha  listened  with  evident  pleasure.  She  had  not 
expected  to  hear  such  enthusiasm,  and  such  pronounced 
views  (which  coincided  with  her  own),  in  America, 
where  she  had  been  led  to  expect  indifference  to  all 
but  money-making. 

"Heine,  too,"  said  Bertha,  "has  made  a  name  for 
himself,  although  neither  Jew  nor  Gentile  care  to  claim 
him  as  their  own.  Many  have  been  the  acrimonious 
discussions  among  us  as  to  whether  we  ought  to  read 


The  New  Arrival.  105 

his  works  at  all,  after  he  so  shamefully  deserted  his  an- 
cestral faith.  But  his  intellect  conquered  our  prejudice, 
and  having  once  read  the  outpourings  of  his  master 
mind,  it  was  no  longer  a  question  as  to  whether  we 
should  read,  but  as  to  how  quickly  we  could  obtain 
more  to  read." 

"I  can  easily  comprehend  the  motives  that  led  to 
Heine's  apostasy,"  replied  Ehrlich.  "  The  narrow  Ju- 
daism by  which  he  found  his  intellect  circumscribed 
must  have  been  a  galling  restraint.  A  soul  such  as  his 
must  have  room  to  expand — nay,  more,  must  have  an 
audience  to  appeal  to — and  failing  to  find  spiritual 
succor  and  encouragement  at  home,  he  sought  it  in  the 
great  world." 

"•  Then  you  do  not  condemn  him  for  renouncing  Juda- 
ism and  going  over  to  the  enemy  ?  "  asked  Bertha, 

"  I  do  not  blame  him.  I  am  sorry  for  him.  The 
happiness  he  sought  will  never  crown  his  life-work.  No 
Jew  can  ever  become  a  Christian  at  heart.  He  may  cast 
oif  his  allegiance  to  the  congregation,  and  acknowledge 
himself  a  follower  of  the  Gentile  Church,  but  in  his 
heart  he  is  still  a  monotheist,  and  the  doctrines  of  his 
new  creed  are  as  strange  and  incomprehensible  to  him 
as  would  be  the  teachings  of  Vishnu,  Heine  will  not 
be  happier  on  account  of  his  apostasy,  but  if  he  ever  re- 
covers from  his  present  malady,  his  genius  will  probably 
reach  a  greater  development  by  his  amalgamating  with 
that  circle  which  represents  wealth,  power  and  freedom." 

Mr.  Ehrlich,  launched  upon  a  subject  which  was  most 
congenial  to  him,  was  loth  to  terminate  the  conversation, 
but  Mr.  Jacoby,  a  rising  young  merchant,  interposed  in 


106  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

the  interest  of  the  other  gentlemen  present,  who  found 
themselves  cut  off  from  their  divinity  by  the  too  assid- 
uous attentions  of  one  man.  Conversation  thereupon 
descended  to  social  trivialities  and  became  general. 

Miss  Schwartz  expressed  her  opinion  that  where  there 
were  so  many  young  people,  social  amusements  must 
necessarily  be  developed  to  their  fullest  extent. 

"That  is  unfortunately  not  the  case,"  replied  Mr. 
Anhalt,  a  middle-aged  man,  who  devoted  his  leisure, 
after  working  in  Blumen's  factory,  to  reading  law. 
"  Outside  of  the  synagogue  there  is  little  to  draw  our 
people  together.  Every  one  is  so  intent  on  making  a 
living  or  amassing  a  fortune,  that  there  is  little  time  for 
social  intercourse.  The  men  meet  occasionally  at  each 
other's  houses  and  play  cards,  while  the  ladies  at  an  oc- 
casional '  Kaffeeklatsch '  exchange  confidences  concern- 
ing their  dressmakers  or  their  children.  The  young 
people,  however,  have  little  or  no  diversion." 

"  It  is  a  deplorable  state  of  affairs,"  said  Mr.  Jacoby, 
"and  speaks  ill  for  the  progressiveness  of  this  town. 
I  visited  my  cousin  in  Richmond  recently,  a  town 
but  half  the  size  of  this,  and  was  taken  to  a  dance  at 
the  club — a  most  enjoyable  affair.  Why  shouldn't  we 
have  a  club  of  our  own?  We  have  young  people 
enough  to  make  it  a  brilliant  success." 

"A  good  idea,"  cried  Bertha,  eagerly;  for  though 
Bertha  was  fond  of  serious  matters,  she  was  by  no 
means  averse  to  social  pleasures.  "  Count  on  my  at- 
tendance at  every  dance." 

Ehrlich  had  on  numerous  occasions  considered  the 
advisability  of  such  an  innovation,  and  seeing  Miss 


The  New  Arrival.  107 

Schwartz  so  enthusiastic  on  the  subject,  he,  too,  caught 
the  infection. 

"  Incidentally,"  he  said,  "  we  might  form  a  class  in 
literature." 

"And  read  Heine  and  Goethe,"  suggested  Miss 
Schwartz. 

"  And  possibly  Shakespeare  and  Milton,"  added  Mr. 
Anhalt. 

"  There  is  no  time  like  the  present,"  exclaimed  Ehr- 
lich,  impressed  more  than  ever  with  the  possibilities  of 
the  plan.  "  Everybody  seems  to  be  imbued  with  the 
spirit  of  sociability,  and  we  ought  to  succeed  in  secur- 
ing enthusiastic  support  for  so  worthy  an  undertaking." 

With  pencil  and  note-book  in  hand,  he  forthwith  inter- 
viewed the  guests,  and  in  a  short  time  obtained  the 
names  of  a  sufficient  number  of  men  to  make  the  club  a 
possibility. 

The  participants  in  Bertha's  reception  thereupon  re- 
solved themselves  into  a  deliberative  body,  and  appoint- 
ing Mr.  Ehrlich  chairman,  proceeded  to  launch  the  new 
club  in  a  worthy  manner. 

"  So  harmonious  has  been  the  meeting,"  said  the  chair- 
man, "  that  I  think  we  had  better  call  it  the  '  Harmony 
Club/" 

"  Let  us  make  it  the  Harmony  Social  and  Literary 
Club,"  suggested  Mr.  Auhalt ;  and  the  name  met  with 
unanimous  approval. 

Thus  was  the  first  Jewish  Club  in  B called  into 

existence.  It  more  than  fulfilled  the  expectations  of  its 
founders.  It  subsequently  became  the  rendezvous  of 
card-playing  men,  of  gossiping  women,  of  studious  and 


108  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

merry-making  youths  and  maidens.  Even  the  exclusive 
Sephardim  gradually  sought  admittance  to  its  ranks, 
and  differences  of  caste  and  of  descent  were  in  time 
obliterated  through  its  friendly  influence. 

The  harmony  pervading  Bertha's  reception  was 
threatened  with  obliteration  by  an  unfortunate  occur- 
rence. Izzy  Rosenheim  had  early  in  the  evening  des- 
cried Emma  Bergthal  among  the  guests,  and  had 
hovered  about  her  as  the  moth  hovers  about  the  fasci- 
nating flame  of  the  candle,  or  the  sparrow  about  the 
hypnotizing  eye  of  the  cobra.  Rarely  had  these  two 
yearning  souls  with  rival  fathers  an  opportunity  of 
meeting,  and  the  present  occasion  promised  untold  de- 
lights. Alas !  Mr.  Bergthal,  as  though  scenting  danger, 
kept  near  his  daughter,  and  Izzy's  hopes  declined  as 
the  evening  wore  on.  Bertha's  charms  had  no  attrac- 
tion for  him ;  her  musical  laugh  found  no  answering 
vibration  in  his  heart,  as  it  did  in  the  hearts  of  other 
men.  His  goddess  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
closely  guarded  by  a  zealous  dragon — a  watchful  father. 
At  length  hope  dawned. 

When  Ehrlich  broached  the  subject  of  a  club  to  Mr. 
Bergthal,  that  gentleman  immediately  became  an  enthu- 
siastic advocate  of  the  scheme. 

"  Aha  ! "  he  cried,  in  delighted  accents,  dropping  his 
rules  of  grammar  and  his  vocabulary  in  his  eagerness 
to  express  his  views.  "Vot  did  I  told  you  long  ago 
alretty?  Tree  years  ago  I  vos  for  a  club  in  favor. 
Id's  a  good  t'ing.  Just  look  vot  a  gonvenience  ven  you 
vant  to  blay  cards,  oder  ven  you  vant  politics  to  talk, 
oder  ven  you  avay  from  your  vife  vant  to  get  for  an 


The  New  Arrival.  109 

hour.  Vere  is  Solomon  Basch  ?  I  bet  you  he  vill 
join  dot  club  tree  times  alretty.  It  vos  a  blessing  for 
a  man  like  Basch." 

In  his  willingness  to  find  Basch  and  help  Ehrlich 
secure  additional  members,  Mr.  Bergthal  relinquished 
the  arm  of  his  daughter,  who,  as  soon  as  she  found  her- 
self free  from  paternal  surveillance,  edged  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  despairing  Izzy. 

"Come,"  she  cried,  gaily.  "I've  escaped.  Let's 
hurry  into  the  hall  before  papa  discovers  my  absence." 

"  Oh,  Emma !"  sighed  Izzy,  rapturously.  "  How 
sweet  you  look,  and  how  I  longed  to  speak  to  you  !" 

Emma's  eyes  looked  volumes,  but  she  did  not  reply 
until  they  were  safely  out  of  the  hot  room  in  the  cool 
corridor. 

"  You  darling  boy  !"  she  then  exclaimed.  "  Do  you 
think  I  didn't  yearn  to  be  with  you,  too  ?"  And  she 
looked  so  rapturously  at  the  ecstatic  Izzy  that  he  un- 
ceremoniously kissed  her. 

Mr.  Bergthal's  overflowing  energy  found  a  vast  field 
for  usefulness  during  the  next  half  hour.  A  casual  by- 
stander would  have  imagined  that  the  scheme  had  origi- 
nated entirely  in  his  own  brain,  and  would  die  of  inani- 
tion without  him.  It  was  not  until  the  club  had  been 
duly  organized  that  he  bethought  himself  of  his  daugh- 
ter, and  zealously  sought  for  her  among  the  guests. 
But  Emma  had  disappeared,  like  a  second  Iphigenia 
transported  to  Tauris. 

At  length  the  anxious  father,  thinking  that  she  might 
have  wandered  to  the  dining-room  in  search  of  cooling 
refreshment,  left  the  room  and  almost  stumbled  over  the 


110  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

amorous  couple  on  the  stairs.  They  were  sitting  in 
close  juxtaposition,  and  were  very  much  engrossed  in 
each  other. 

Kissing  is  unhealthy  if  one  is  caught  in  the  act,  and 
love's  sweet  dream  is  apt  to  be  disturbed  when  an  irate 
father  comes  unexpectedly  upon  the  scene. 

In  a  second,  unsuspecting  Izzy  felt  a  powerful  grasp 
upon  his  coat  collar,  and  found  himself  suddenly  ele- 
vated to  a  standing  posture.  Before  he  quite  compre- 
hended the  full  extent  of  the  disaster,  he  felt  Bergthal's 
hot  breath  upon  his  cheek  and  saw  the  glare  of  Berg- 
thal's  eyes  transfix  his  own. 

"  You  rascal,  you  shneak,  you  humbug,  you — " 
Bergthal  gasped  for  new  words  with  which  to  express 
his  opinion  of  the  reprobate,  but  finding  none  that 
would  do  the  subject  justice,  he  shook  Izzy  until  that 
young  man's  teeth  chattered. 

"  Let  up !"  he  cried,  when  he  found  his  breath. 
"  You  are  tearing  my  coat." 

"  Tearing  your  goat  ?  Ha  !  You  goot-for-nodding 
nixnutz  !  I  guess  it  vos  one  from  Rosenheim's  shtock. 
Dey  tear  if  you  look  at  dem  only.  You  are  as  goot  for 
nodding  as  everyding  dot  belongs  to  Rosenheitn.  Tore 
your  goat !  I  haf  a  goot  notion  your  head  to  tear  off 
alretty.  Vot  you  mean,  eh  ?  Sitting  on  der  shteps  und 
kissing  my  daughter.  I'll  show  you  how  my  daughter 
to  kiss !" 

Izzy  needed  no  instructions  in  this  particular  accom- 
plishment, nor  did  he  relish  Mr.  Bergthal's  course  of 
teaching,  which  consisted  of  sundry  cyclonic  shakes  and 
pulls,  and  which  were  undignified,  not  to  say  painful. 


The  New  Arrival. 

"  Hey  !  let  me  alone,  will  you,  you  old  idiot  ?"  cried 
Izzy,  in  his  righteous  rage,  while  poor  Emma  wept 
aloud,  undecided  whether  to  side  with  an  outraged 
father  or  a  discomfited  lover. 

"  I'm  an  idiot,  eh  ?"  shouted  Bergthal,  enraged ;  and 
the  shaking  process  re-commenced,  till  Izzy  begged  for 
mercy. 

The  noise  brought  a  number  of  guests  to  the  spot, 
and  Mr.  Bergthal,  being  exhausted  by  his  violent  exer- 
cise, and  rather  ashamed  of  the  scene  he  was  creating, 
relinquished  his  hold  on  the  boy's  collar. 

"  Now,  I  vant  to  told  you  one  t'ing,"  he  said,  ex- 
citedly. "  Dis  is  der  second  time  I  ketch  you  making 
love  mit  mine  daughter.  If  I  found  you  out  again,  I 
vont  shpank  you,  begause  you  vasn't  vorth  soiling  my 
hands  on ;  aber  I'll  sit  you  down  so  dot  you  don't  can 
got  up  again  in  six  months.  You  undershtand  me,  eh  ? 
Tell  your  fader,  mit  my  gornbliments,  dot  you  don'd 
vos  dry  yet  behind  der  ears,  and  he  shall  you  mit  a 
shtrap  treat,  till  you  vos  old  enough  to  go  by  yourself 
out.  Come,  Emma,  ve  vill  go  home  alretty.  Dis  is  no 
place  for  us." 

And  he  led  his  weeping  child  away. 

Uninterrupted  by  this  tearful  episode,  the  reception 
continued  in  undiminished  splendor,  and  wound  up  with 
a  bountiful  repast. 

"  Yust  like  a  vedding,"  whispered  Mr.  Rosenheim  to 
his  wife ;  and  she  sagely  shook  her  head  and  answered, 
"  Yes,  Mr.  Schwartz  makes  good  use  of  his  wealth." 

"  I  tell  you  vot  it  is,"  remarked  Rosenheim ;  "  I  vould 
radder  eat  a  '  Kosher '  feast  like  dis,  surrounded  by  de 


112  A  Victim  of  Conscience, 

comforts  of  home,  den  to  eat  '  treifa '  among  savages  in 
de  Vest.  Vot  does  de  Talmud  say — " 

The  quotation  was  unfortunately  lost,  for  at  that 
moment  Rabbi  Kauifman  arose,  and,  true  to  his  calling, 
delivered  an  impromptu  sermon,  the  object  of  which 
was  to  drink  to  the  health  of  Bertha  Schwartz  and  to 
wish  her  a  happy  sojourn  among  her  new  friends.  The 
noisy  acclaim  with  which  the  remarks  were  received 
gave  evidence  that  the  speaker  had  echoed  the  prevail- 
ing sentiment  and  struck  a  popular  chord. 

When  the  guests  left,  Ehrlich  accompanied  the  Rabbi 
and  Mrs.  Kauifman  home.  A  sincere  attachment  had 
grown  up  between  the  two  men,  born  of  admiration  for 
each  other's  sincerity  and  strength  of  character.  They 
discussed  the  new  club  in  all  its  bearings.  The  minister 
feared  it  might  prove  prejudicial  to  the  welfare  of  the 
synagogue. 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  Ehrlich,  laughing,  "by 
bringing  the  young  people  together,  it  may  provoke 
more  marriages,  and  thereby  provide  new  members  for 
the  congregation.  Besides,  the  bonds  of  matrimony  are 
always  a  source  of  revenue  to  the  minister." 

"And  why  don't  you  marry,  my  friend?"  asked  the 
Rabbi,  with  the  match-making  instincts  of  his  pro- 
fession. 

"  Oh,  I  am  in  no  hurry !  Let  me  first  make  my 
way,  and  then  find  the  right  girl.  Many  a  poor  fellow 
marries  in  haste,  and  is  then  kept  so  busy  making  both 
ends  meet  that  he  hasn't  the  leisure  to  repent." 

"  True,"  replied  the  Rabbi ;  "  marriage  is  a  game  of 
chance." 


The  New  Arrival.  113 

"  The  only  game  of  chance/'  said  Ehrlich,  "  which 
the  clergy  does  not  discourage." 

"We  are  taught  by  the  book,"  returned  the  other, 
with  a  smile,  "  to  love  our  neighbors." 

"Not  a  difficult  thing  to  do,"  retorted  Ehrlich, 
"  when  the  neighbor  is  young  and  pretty." 

"And  has  brown  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,"  said  Mr. 
Kauffman.  "  Now,  if  I  were  a  young  man,  I  think  I 
could  fall  in  love  with — " 

"Sh!  Don't  let  us  get  personal.  When  a  matri- 
monial match  is  struck,  it  is  so  easy  for  some  one  to  get 
burned.  Good-night ! " 

"Dear  me !"  said  the  Rabbi  to  his  wife,  as  he  looked 
after  the  young  man,  meditatively,  "I  think  I  had 
better  read  up  my  marriage  service;  I  may  need  it 
soon." 

Nor  was  the  good  Rabbi  the  only  soul  who  allowed 
his  mind  to  wander  on  the  subject  of  matrimony  that 
evening.  Given  a  pretty  girl  of  an  eligible  age,  and 
matrimonial  projects  are  as  apt  to  form  about  her  per- 
sonality as  doves  are  prone  to  congregate  about  a  gran- 
ary well  stocked  with  tempting  corn. 

That  such  speculations  are  for  the  most  part  fallacious 
does  not  deter  amiable  natures  from  indulging  in  them. 
From  the  Queen  of  England,  whose  match-making 
propensities  were  well  known,  down  to  the  most  humble 
servant  in  the  kitchen,  there  is  a  keen  fascination  in 
imagining  connubial  combinations  which,  while  they 
may  never  be  realized,  open  an  endless  vista  of  interest- 
ing possibilities.  Bertha  had  not  been  in  B twenty- 
four  hours  before  well-meaning  papas  and  mammas 


114  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

were  linking  her  name  with  that  of  some  favorite  son, 
and  a  score  of  young  men  were  wondering,  in  the  secret 
recesses  of  their  brains,  when  and  whom  the  dark-eyed 
damsel  would  choose. 

A  new  life  seemed  to  dawn  for  the  Schwartzes. 
Bertha's  advent  lifted  the  family  out  of  its  sad  and 
gloomy  groove.  There  was  much  for  the  visitor  to  see, 
and  Isaac  and  his  wife  vied  with  each  other  in  escorting 
her  about  town.  There  was  no  end  of  company  in 
honor  of  the  new  arrival,  who  was  voted  a  valuable 
acquisition  to  society.  These  visits  had  to  be  returned, 
and  during  several  weeks  Isaac  found  himself  with  an 
engagement  on  hand  for  every  evening,  and  with  little 
time  to  indulge  in  remorseful  broodings. 

By  the  end  of  the  month,  however,  the  novelty  had 
worn  off  and  the  dreaded  reaction  had  set  in.  The 
voice  of  conscience,  which  had  been  momentarily 
drowned  by  enjoyment  and  festivity,  refused  to  remain 
silent.  With  the  approach  of  the  Jewish  holidays,  self- 
reproach,  remorse  and  terror  again  seized  upon  the  soul 
of  the  harassed  man,  poisoning  his  existence  and  ren- 
dering life  a  burden,  from  which  there  seemed  no  pos- 
sible escape. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    DAY     OF     ATONEMENT. 

"  Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied 
Is  not  of  heaven  or  earth ;  for  these  are  pleased. 
By  penitence,  the  Eternal's  wrath's  appeased." 

— Shakespeare. 

ROSH-HASHANNA  had  come — the  holy  day  on  which 
Jehovah  views  his  people  from  his  radiant  throne,  and 
inserts  their  names  in  the  book  of  life  and  happiness  for 
the  ensuing  year.  For  the  pious  Jew  this  is  a  sacred 
day  of  preparation  for  the  still  more  holy  Day  of 
Atonement,  on  which  the  book  of  life  is  sealed  and 
man's  fate  irrevocably  decreed. 

The  peddler,  returned  from  his  tireless  activity  on  the 
road  and  laying  aside  his  travel-stained  raiment,  pre- 
pared to  appear  before  his  God ;  the  merchant  closed 
his  place  of  business  and  exchanged  his  counting-house 
thoughts  for  a  sentiment  of  religion.  All  Israel  was 
lifted  above  the  prosaic  exigencies  of  every-day  life  into 
the  poetic  realms  of  sublime  spirituality. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  New  Year.  The  Jews 
were  streaming  into  their  synagogue  to  observe  the 
sacred  day.  Schwartz  stood  indifferently  at  the  door  of 
his  establishment,  watching  his  friends  pass.  No  senti- 
ment of  devotion  urged  him  to  follow.  His  wife, 
dressed  in  her  holiday  raiment,  having  waited  in  vain 

115 


116  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

for  him  to  accompany  her  to  worship,  came  to  the  store 
in  search  of  him. 

"Isaac,"  she  said,  tenderly  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  "  do  you  know  what  day  this  is  ?" 

He  seemed  to  awaken  from  his  revery. 

"  Yes ;  it  is  Rosh-Hashanna." 

"Why  do  you  not  go  to  the  synagogue  ?"  she  asked, 
in  a  tone  of  mild  remonstrance.  "  It  is  a  sin  to  keep 
the  business  open  to-day." 

"Why  should  it  be  a  sin?"  he  asked,  indifferently. 
"  I  will  not  go  to  the  service." 

"Why  not,  my  dear?" 

"  I  have  an  aversion  to  the  place.  It  would  be 
mockery  for  me  to  go." 

Lena's  eyes  were  wet  with  tears. 

"  Isaac,"  she  said,  pleadingly,  "  will  you  not  tell  me 
what  is  weighing  upon  your  mind,  what  is  making  you 
so  unhappy?" 

She  had  asked  the  same  question  a  hundred  times, 
but  her  husband  had  always  evaded  an  explanation. 

"  Nothing,  Lena ;  I  have  told  you  so  before.  I 
must  become  wealthy,  and  my  business  is  of  more  im- 
portance to  me  than  the  synagogue.  Don't  bother  me 
with  foolish  questions." 

"But  I  may  go  to  'Schul'  with  Bertha,  may  I  not, 
Isaac?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish.  I  cannot  keep  you.  I  will 
stay  here  and  work." 

"  Don't  work,  husband.  Close  up  the  store.  Indeed 
it  is  a  sin.  You  did  not  use  to  be  so  indifferent  to  your 
religion.  You  were  formerly  a  God-fearing  man." 


The  Day  of  Atonement. 

"  Times  have  changed.  I  was  poor  then ;  now  I  am 
prosperous." 

"  The  more  reason  to  be  thankful  and  devout.  Isaac, 
promise  me  you  will  close  up  the  store." 

Isaac  muttered  an  evasive  reply  and  turned  on  his 
heel.  Lena,  sad  and  disheartened,  returned  to  her 
home  for  Bertha.  Scarcely  had  she  gone  before  Isaac's 
defiant  and  sullen  demeanor  changed.  For  a  while  he 
strode  up  and  down  his  store,  with  clenched  fist  and 
haggard  look,  and  then,  as  if  seized  with  a  sudden 
impulse,  he  dismissed  his  astonished  employes,  and, 
hastily  taking  in  his  signs,  he  barred  the  shutters  and 
locked  up  his  establishment.  It  was  not  a  sentiment 
of  religion,  nor  yet  a  desire  to  please  his  wife,  that 
prompted  this  action,  but  rather  a  superstitious  dread 
that  some  catastrophe  might  result  from  a  debasement 
of  the  holiday.  He  put  on  his  hat  and  wandered  rest- 
lessly and  aimlessly  down  the  street,  starting  in  terror 
at  every  sound.  Weary  of  his  aimless  walk,  he  finally 
bent  his  steps  up  High  Street,  towards  the  Broker's 
Exchange,  utterly  regardless  of  the  sanctity  of  the  day. 
To  avoid  a  possible  encounter  with  co-religionists,  on 
their  way  to  divine  service,  he  wandered  furtively 
through  a  number  of  narrow  side  streets,  brooding  over 
the  one  subject  which  scarcely  left  him  by  day  or  by 
night — his  crime. 

"  Thief !     Murderer  !     Stop  him  !" 

The  cry  rang  piercingly  from  a  third-story  window, 
where  a  hysterical  woman  was  being  savagely  beaten  by 
a  drunken  husband. 

Isaac  stopped  in  terror  at  the  sound.     For  a  moment 


118  A  Victim  of  Conscience." 

fright  seemed  to  paralyze  him.  The  perspiration  stood 
out  upon  his  forehead.  Could  they  mean  him  ?  No,  it 
was  impossible.  He  looked  about  him,  but  could  see 
no  one  to  whom  the  epithets  could  apply. 

"  Murderer !   Assassin !    For  heaven's  sake  stop  him !" 

The  cry  was  repeated  louder  than  before. 

Schwartz  had  reached  a  state  of  nervousness  where 
reality  and  imagination  were  so  curiously  interwrought 
as  to  be  well  nigh  inseparable.  Each  emotion  became 
to  him  an  acute  sensation.  At  a  sudden  sound,  a  flash 
of  light,  or  a  careless  word,  all  rational  thought  seemed 
to  vanish  and  superstitious  dread  held  absolute  sway. 
He  could  not  distinguish  the  probable  from  the  improb- 
able. To  him  the  accusing  cry  could  have  but  one 
meaning. 

"  My  God,  they  have  found  me  out  at  last !"  cried 
the  wretched  man,  turning  vaguely,  like  a  hunted  stag, 
for  some  chance  of  escape.  What  was  there  to  be 
done  ?  He  hid  his  eyes  in  his  hands,  in  order  not  to 
see  the  crowds  of  people  that  were  attracted  to  the  spot. 
He  felt  that  his  only  safety  lay  in  flight,  and,  in  his  ter- 
ror and  dismay,  he  began  to  run  as  fast  as  his  trembling 
limbs  would  carry  him.  It  was  like  a  hideous  night- 
mare, in  which  one  tries  to  flee  from  danger,  but  cannot. 

"  Stop  him  !"  cried  some  one  in  the  crowd,  encour- 
aged by  the  cry  from  the  window.  "  There  goes  the 
thief!" 

Instantly  a  dozen  excited  idlers  started  in  hot  pur- 
suit of  the  fleeing  man.  Before  many  moments  he  was 
caught,  and  found  himself  surrounded  by  a  wildly  ges- 
ticulating mob. 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  119 

A  policeman  had  arrived  by  this  time,  and,  with  an 
ostentatious  display  of  authority,  he  grasped  Isaac 
roughly  by  the  arm  and  brandished  his  formidable 
club. 

"  I  am  innocent,  gentlemen ;  indeed  I  am,"  protested 
Isaac,  feebly. 

"We  will  see  when  we  get  to  the  station-house," 
replied  the  officer,  who,  having  come  late,  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  of  his  prisoner's  offence.  He  dragged  his 
unwilling  captive  along,  with  a  hooting  crowd  of 
urchins  at  his  heels.  Isaac  was  dumb  with  shame  and 
mortification.  Tears  rolled  unhindered  down  his  pale 
and  agitated  face.  The  end,  the  dreaded  discovery  had 
come  at  last.  What  would  become  of  Lena  and  the 
children  ? 

The  station-house  was  a  long  way  oif,  and  the  crowd 
which  surrounded  Isaac  grew  denser  with  every  step. 
With  it  grew  his  misery  and  humiliation.  At  length 
they  reached  their  destination.  With  mingled  feelings 
of  terror  and  despair,  Isaac  gazed  upon  the  brick  build- 
ing, with  its  iron-barred  windows.  How  terrible  the 
massive,  nail-incrusted  doors  appeared  to  him !  With 
his  captor  and  a  few  of  his  accusers  he  entered  the 
building,  while  the  jeering  crowd  happily  remained  out- 
side. The  sergeant  was  absent  for  the  moment,  and  Isaac 
took  his  seat  upon  the  prisoner's  bench,  buried  his  head 
in  his  palms  and  waited  dejectedly. 

With  startling  vividness,  like  a  series  of  horrible 
pictures,  there  flashed  across  his  mind  all  the  terrible 
episodes  he  had  undergone  in  the  West — the  torments, 
the  torture,  the  struggles,  the  crime !  What  could  ne 


120  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

say  to  the  judge  in  extenuation?  What  plea  could  he 
enter  for  mercy? 

After  a  dreary  pause  of  ten  minutes  the  sergeant 
entered.  He  recognized  his  prisoner  as  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Schwartz,"  he  asked,  good  humoredly, 
"  how  is  this  ?  Of  what  crime  have  you  been  guilty  ?" 

Isaac  found  no  reply.  The  consciousness  of  his 
guilt  was  overwhelming.  He  stood  trembling  before 
his  judge,  unable  to  utter  a  word  in  self-defence.  The 
policeman  made  a  statement  to  the  effect  that  Schwartz 
had  been  guilty  of  disturbing  the  peace.  A  gentleman 
testified  that  some  one  had  cried  "  Stop  thief !"  and,  see- 
ing Schwartz  run,  he  naturally  concluded  that  he  was  the 
culprit,  and  accordingly  assisted  in  his  capture.  Besides 
these  two,  there  were  no  accusers  and  absolutely  no  evi- 
dence against  the  man.  The  sergeant,  who  prided  him- 
self upon  his  intimacy  with  the  rich  and  respected  mer- 
chant, discharged  him,  with  profuse  apologies  for  the 
unfortunate  mistake. 

Isaac  seized  his  hat,  expressed  his  thanks  and  hurried 
out  into  the  street. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  muttered,  "  I  am  safe  !  But  for 
how  long  ?  The  discovery  and  exposure  will  come  in 
time,  and  there  will  be  no  escape." 

He  crept  through  side  streets  and  alleys  to  his  home, 
and,  throwing  himself  upon  a  sofa,  wept  as  if  his  heart 
would  break.  If  he  could  but  confide  his  secret  to 
Lena !  He  had  a  dozen  times  within  the  last  week 
been  on  the  point  of  telling  her,  but  the  fear  of  losing 
her  esteem,  her  respect,  her  love,  restrained  him.  He 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  121 

feared  that  his  wife  might  spurn  him  as  a  murderer 
and  leave  him  to  his  despair. 

Truly  Prometheus,  chained  to  his  rock,  with  vultures 
tearing  out  his  vitals,  endured  no  greater  agony  than 
this  conscience-coward,  fettered  by  a  tenacious  memory 
to  his  crime-stained  pillar,  with  dread  and  remorse  tug- 
ging at  his  very  soul. 

The  constant,  unremitting  recollection  of  his  awful 
deed,  which  effectually  made  him  a  pariah  in  the  midst 
of  affluence,  almost  crazed  him.  Suddenly  sinking 
upon  his  knees,  he  poured  out  his  grief  in  prayer.  He, 
the  murderer,  who  had  not  prayed  for  almost  a  year, 
now  lifted  up  his  voice  to  heaven  and  pleaded  for  for- 
giveness and  forgetfulness.  When  he  arose  he  felt ,  as 
though  a  weight  of  sorrow  had  been  lifted  from  his 
heart. 

The  two  women,  unconscious  of  this  occurrence, 
walked  slowly  towards  the  synagogue. 

"  Alas !"  said  Bertha,  "  I  hardly  know  my  brother, 
he  is  so  changed.  There  was  never  a  happier,  gayer 
man  than  he ;  and  now — why,  all  my  endeavors  fail  to 
bring  a  smile  to  his  lips." 

"Ah,  Bertha,  if  you  knew  how  wretchedly  unhappy 
I  am,"  replied  Lena.  "  It  is  constantly  getting  worse, 
instead  of  better." 

"  Have  you  no  idea  what  is  troubling  him  ?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  He  will  not  confide  in  me.  He 
must  have  had  a  terrible  experience  out  West,  which 
has  shaken  his  reason." 

"  It  is  not  as  bad  as  that." 

"It  is  perhaps  worse  than  I  imagine.     There  are 


122  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

moments  when  he  is  almost  insane.  He  seems  to  brood 
over  one  idea.  I  often  watch  him,  without  his  knowing 
it,  and  then  I  am  frightened  at  the  look  of  grief  and 
terror  on  his  face." 

"Perhaps  some  crime  has  been  committed,"  said 
Bertha,  trembling  at  her  own  suggestion. 

"  I  have  had  the  same  idea,"  cried  Lena,  seizing  her 
sister-in-law  passionately  by  the  hand.  "  God  grant 
that  he  is  not  implicated  in  any  wrong." 

"  It  must  be,  as  he  says,  only  a  passing  illness — some 
fever,  due  to  the  malaria  of  the  place  in  which  he  lived. 
Perhaps  it  will  wear  itself  out." 

"  I  hope  so.  With  all  my  heart,  I  hope  so,"  replied 
Lena ;  but  in  her  heart  she  knew  the  hope  to  be  vain. 

They  entered  the  synagogue  and  ascended  to  the  little 
gallery  reserved  for  women.  Lena's  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  old  days  of  poverty  and  privation,  when 
she  and  Isaac  had  no  secrets  from  each  other;  when 
their  greatest  trouble  was  how  to  procure  their  next 
meal.  It  was  all  changed  now.  How  gladly  she  would 
have  shared  his  sorrow,  if  he  had  allowed  it ;  but  she 
had  in  vain  employed  all  her  tact  to  learn  his  secret 
and  knew  no  longer  how  to  act.  As  she  looked  down 
upon  this  concourse  of  pious  men,  the  thought  that  her 
husband  was  not  among  them,  that  he  had  become  a 
pervert  from  Judaism,  had  fallen  from  his  beautiful  and 
God-inspired  religion,  brought  a  feeling  of  anguish  to 
her  soul,  and  she  wept.  Bertha,  after  vainly  trying  to 
comfort  her,  sympathetically  wept  too. 

Ten  days  later  was  the  Yom  Kippur — the  Day  of 
Atonement — the  day  on  which  each  individual  searches 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  123 

in  the  deepest  recesses  of  his  own  soul  and  cleanses 
himself  of  all  evil  and  corruption.  A  wonderful  day, 
truly,  on  which  the  devout  Jew  steps  before  his  Maker, 
remorsefully  confesses  his  sins,  and,  under  a  sincere 
promise  of  improvement  and  a  resolution  to  avoid  the 
misdeeds  of  the  past,  craves  the  Almighty's  pardon. 
For  the  Jew  there  can  be  no  vicarious  atonement.  Each 
contrite  soul  becomes  its  own  redeemer.  It  is  a  great, 
a  solemn  day  in  Israel. 

"  Lena,  dear,  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  synagogue," 
said  Isaac,  on  Yom  Kippur  eve. 

Lena's  heart  bounded  with  joy.  She  kissed  her  hus- 
band, as  one  would  a  dutiful  child. 

"  Oh,  dearest,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  am !" 
she  said ;  for  she  foresaw  in  her  husband's  conversion 
the  beginning  of  better  things. 

The  store  was  closed  betimes,  a  bountiful  feast  was 
partaken  of,  preparatory  to  the  long  fast  on  the  morrow, 
and  Schwartz,  with  his  wife  and  sister,  walked  silently 
and  solemnly  to  the  house  of  worship. 

A  dull,  unyielding  sorrow  tugged  at  the  poor  man's 
heart.  It  was  just  a  year  since  he  had  taken  another's 
life,  and  every  detail  of  that  night  lived  vividly  in  his 
recollection.  Friends  met  each  other  at  the  door  of  the 
synagogue  and  asked  forgiveness  for  the  wrong  they 
had  done  one  another.  It  is  a  beautiful  custom,  which 
demands  that  the  worshiper  be  at  peace  with  all  man- 
kind before  he  makes  peace  with  his  God.  Isaac  passed 
these  groups  indifferently.  He  had  no  forgiveness  to 
ask  of  them ;  he  had  done  them  no  harm.  The  only 
person  he  had  wronged  was  cold  and  dead,  and  could 


124  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

not  forgive.  He  strode  up  to  his  pew,  scarcely  observ- 
ing the  nods  of  recognition  of  his  many  acquaintances. 
He  felt  completely  isolated  from  mankind,  an  outcast  in 
the  midst  of  them. 

The  services  began.  The  reader  chanted  the  Hebrew 
prayers  in  a  sing-song,  monotonous  fashion.  Suddenly 
the  mystically  melodious  tones  of  the  "Kol  Nidre" 
floated  through  the  synagogue.  It  is  a  strange,  weird 
song  of  touching  harmony  and  tearful  pathos,  a  song 
which  portrays,  as  never  song  portrayed  before,  the  per- 
secution, the  misery,  the  passion,  the  hope,  the  humility 
of  the  Hebrews.  It  is  sung  but  once  a  year,  on  the 
Yom  Ivippur  eve,  and  its  sad  measures  attune  the  sin- 
encrusted  heart  to  repentance.  It  swept  Isaac's  soul 
with  a  powerful  touch.  It  rang  into  his  ears  like  the 
voice  of  an  accusing  angel.  It  opened  his  mental 
vision  and  lifted  the  veil  of  the  hideous  past.  In  the 
trouble  of  his  spirit  Isaac  looked  up  from  his  prayer 
book  and  gazed  vacantly  about  him.  He  seemed  to 
observe,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  little  synagogue  was 
filled  with  men,  and  each  of  them,  but  himself,  wore  a 
praying  scarf.  He  looked  at  his  neighbor,  who  had  on 
a  "  Tallith,"  the  neck  of  which  was  embroidered  with  a 
band  of  tarnished  gold  braid.  To  Isaac's  fevered 
imagination  it  seemed  to  be  bordered  with  blood.  His 
mind  reverted  to  Sweeny,  as  he  had  seen  him  last,  lying 
upon  the  floor,  with  the  torn  scarf  bound  about  his 
bleeding  temple. 

What  a  strange  fancy !  He  finds  himself  back  again 
in  the  little  western  cabin,  re-enacting  the  drama  of 
that  awful  night.  One  by  one  the  events  crowd  back 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  125 

upon  his  memory  with  the  vividness  of  reality.  Again 
he  sees  Sweeny  staggering  into  the  cabin  intoxicated ; 
he  hears  his  curses  and  hideous  oaths,  his  accusations 
and  unfounded  denunciations.  He  sees  him  pull  the 
sacred  Tallith  from  his  person  and  vent  his  spite  upon 
it  by  tearing  it  into  shreds.  He  feels  the  brute's  pow- 
erful and  relentless  grip  upon  his  arm ;  he  struggles  with 
the  drunkard ;  he  upbraids  him ;  he  strikes  him  with 
the  pick.  Horrors  !  he  has  killed  him  !  There  lies 
the  corpse,  a  mouldering  mass  of  corruption.  No ;  it 
arises  !  This  is  not  Sweeny,  but  some  horrible  spectre, 
some  fiend  of  fearful  aspect,  approaching  to  accuse 
Isaac  of  the  murder.  The  apparition  advances 
towards  the  unfortunate  man.  It  seizes  him  by  the 
throat  and  seeks  to  choke  him  into  insensibility. 

"  Help,  help !"  shrieked  Isaac,  in  his  delirium. 
"  Take  him  away  !  I  am  innocent !  I  did  not  mean 
to  do  it !" 

Isaac  had  screamed  aloud,  as  he  struggled  to  release 
himself  from  the  horrid  grasp  of  the  apparition.  There 
was  an  indescribable  commotion  in  the  synagogue. 
Lena,  from  her  seat  in  the  gallery,  had  seen  her  hus- 
band reel  and  sway,  as  though  battling  with  an  invisi- 
ble foe.  She  heard  his  scream  of  terror  and  saw  him 
fall  heavily  to  the  floor.  The  "  Kol  Nidre"  came 
to  a  sudden  and  premature  end,  and  a  number  of  sym- 
pathetic friends  crowded  around  the  stricken  man. 

"  He  has  swooned,"  said  one.  "  Take  him  out  into 
the  cool  air." 

"  It  is  hot  enough  in  here  to  make  anybody  faint," 
said  another. 


126  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  He  has  over-exerted  himself/'  cried  a  third.  "  I 
told  him  but  recently  that  he  was  working  too  hard." 

The  services  were  interrupted  while  they  carried  him 
out  into  the  vestibule,  where  Lena  and  Bertha,  trem- 
bling and  weeping,  awaited  his  coming.  After  some 
moments  he  opened  his  eyes  and  appeared  to  have  re- 
covered. 

"  How  are  you,  Isaac  ?  Do  you  feel  better  ? "  asked 
his  wife,  anxiously. 

He  looked  about  him  with  a  vacant  stare  and  shud- 
dered. The  recollection  of  his  frightful  vision  came 
back  to  him.  Thank  heaven,  it  was  only  a  dream,  a 
cheat  of  the  senses. 

"  I  am  better,  Lena,"  he  murmured.  "  Let  us  go 
home." 

Supported  by  his  wife  and  sister,  he  tottered  home, 
like  an  old,  decrepit  man. 

"What  happened  to  me,  Lena?"  he  asked,  in  a  falter- 
ing voice,  as  though  dreading  to  know. 

She  told  him  how  he  had  struggled  and  fallen. 

"  It  must  be  my  illness,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  It 
is  an  awful  thing,  but  it  will  wear  off  in  time." 

Lena  shook  her  head  mournfully,  but  said  nothing. 
She  had  her  doubts — grave,  terrible  doubts.  On  their 
arrival  at  the  house,  Joe  and  Rose  were  brought  down 
into  the  sitting-room,  and  their  merry  prattle  and  inno- 
cent play  soon  restored  their  father  to  his  wonted 
spirits.  He  slept  heavily,  however,  muttering  and 
groaning  in  his  sleep,  and  once  he  sat  bolt  upright  in 
bed  and  shrieked  in  his  dreams. 

On  the  morrow  he  awoke  feverish  and  tired. 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  127 

"Shall  I  send  for  a  doctor?"  asked  Lena. 

"  No,  dear ;  I  feel  much  better." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  go  to  the  synagogue. 
You  might  have  a  recurrence  of  yesterday's  illness." 

"  No,  Lena ;  that  is  over.  It  will  not  come  back 
again.  I  shall  go ;  I  must  pour  out  my  heart  to  God. 
I  have  need  of  atonement ;  I  have  need  of  his  mercy." 

Together  they  went  to  the  house  of  prayer.  How 
crowded  it  was  with  fasting  men  and  women  !  There 
was  contrition  in  every  heart,  remorse  in  every  counte- 
nance. 

"Help  us,  O  Lord,  and  forgive  us,  for  we  have 
sinned."  The  reader  chanted  the  Hebrew  prayers  with 
his  fine  baritone  voice,  and  the  congregation  responded, 
ruefully  beating  their  breasts,  sadly  chastising  their 
erring  bodies.  The  holy  scrolls  were  taken  from  the 
ark  and  appropriate  portions  read.  Then  the  Haftarah, 
a  chapter  from  Isaiah,  was  recited ;  and  finally  Rabbi 
Kauffman  ascended  to  the  pulpit  and  preached  a  dis- 
course on  the  significance  of  the  holy  day.  The  Rabbi 
was  not  a  particularly  eloquent  speaker,  nor  could  he 
be  accused  of  being  an  intellectual  giant.  There  have 
been  more  capable  theologians  before  and  since.  But 
he  was  a  God-fearing  man,  who  spoke  with  the  convic- 
tion of  sincere  belief.  He  expounded  Judaism  from 
the  utilitarian  standpoint,  believed  in  its  lofty  ideals 
and  its  messianic  aims,  but  secretly  chafed  under  forms 
which  he  considered  obsolete.  Without  being  very 
erudite,  he  was  high-minded  and  tolerant,  and  made  up 
in  personal  effort  what  he  lacked  in  eloquence  and 
power.  He  had  a  habit  of  talking  at  his  congrega- 


128  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

tion,  so  that  every  listener  knew  that  he  was  meant, 
and  took  the  lesson  home  to  himself.  The  burden  of 
his  sermon  was  "Atonement." 

"  No  sinner,"  he  said,  in  the  course  of  his  remarks, 
"can  hope  for  atonement  unless  it  comes  from  and 
through  himself.  Each  offender  must  bear  the  punish- 
ment of  his  own  evil  deeds ;  no  one  can  bear  it  for  him, 
or  release  him  from  its  consequences.  Man's  liability 
to  sin  does  not  proceed  from  the  fall  of  the  first  pair,  as 
other  creeds  would  have  you  believe.  Judaism  has  ever 
taught  that  man  is  a  free  agent,  with  power  to  do  wrong 
or  to  remain  steadfastly  upon  the  path  of  rectitude. 
That  he  errs  is  due  to  his  environments  and  to  the 
innumerable  temptations  which  beset  his  life — tempta- 
tions which  are  in  no  wise  the  special  decrees  of  God 
or  of  the  devil,  but  merely  of  man's  own  creation,  and 
which  he  has  the  power  to  avoid. 

"Having  done  wrong,"  he  continued,  "there  are 
three  steps  which  are  essential  to  atonement.  We 
must  first  confess  to  ourselves  and  to  our  God  that  we 
have  sinned ;  we  must,  secondly,  make  every  restitution 
in  our  power,  for  God  will  not  forgive  until  we  have 
obtained  forgiveness  from  the  victim  we  have  wronged ; 
and  we  must,  lastly,  promise  sincerely  and  trustfully 
to  avoid  a  repetition  of  our  wrong.  Having  done  this, 
we  can  step  proudly  to  the  throne  of  Jehovah  and  count 
upon  his  mercy. 

i(  The  key  to  the  doctrine  of  atonement,"  continued 
the  Rabbi,  "  is  found  in  this  passage  of  the  Talmud  : 
1  Transgressions  between  man  and  his  neighbor,  the  day 
of  the  atonement  will  not  wash  away  until  the  neighbor 


"  Help,  help!"  shrieked  Isaac. 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  129 

be  reconciled.'  (Mishna,  chap,  via.,  sec.  9.)  '  The  calum- 
niator must  therefore  first  seek  reconciliation  with  the 
person  he  has  wronged.  The  thief  must  necessarily  re- 
store the  stolen  property  before  he  can  possibly  hope  for 
mercy.' " 

So  the  Rabbi  quoted  the  Talmud's  views  on  every 
crime  in  the  catalogue  of  human  transgressions  until  he 
came  to  the  greatest  of  all — homicide. 

"  I  need  scarcely  speak  of  murder,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile,  "  for  we  have  no  murderers  among  us.  An  Israel- 
ite may  be  misled  into  extortion  or  calumny ;  he  may 
by  force  of  circumstances  even  be  tempted  to  commit 
theft;  but,  thank  God,  the  annals  of  Israel  show  re- 
markably few  murderers !  An  assassin  can  expect  no 
atonement.  There  can  be  no  restitution.  Remorse 
cannot  restore  the  life  that  has  been  wantonly  destroyed. 
The  soul  has  fled  forever ;  the  crime  is  beyond  redemp- 
tion. For  the  murderer  there  is  no  atonement." 

Isaac,  who  had  listened  with  painful  interest,  now 
writhed  in  agony  upon  his  bench.  His  heart  was  burst- 
ing, his  head  was  on  fire.  Deep  into  his  heart  burrowed 
the  fatal  words,  "  For  the  murderer  there  is  no  atone- 
ment." It  was  false !  He  was  on  the  point  of  springing 
up  and  contradicting  the  preacher.  What  did  these 
Rabbis  know  of  God's  divine  will  ?  They  could  only 
reason  according  to  their  own  ideas  of  justice.  What 
if  they  were  wrong  in  their  surmises,  and  God  were 
more  merciful  than  they  ? 

Isaac  sat  with  bowed  head  and  closed  eyes,  so  still 
that  Mr.  Rosenheim  glanced  at  him  uneasily,  thinking 
he  was  asleep.  He  heard  no  more  of  the  sermon  ;  he 
9 


130  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

was  too  busy  with  his  own  wretched  thoughts.  He 
reviewed  the  various  incidents  of  his  crime,  and  sought 
to  discover  a  palliating  circumstance.  Sweeny  had  been 
a  bad  man,  that  was  certain.  He  himself  had  confessed 
how  he  had  first  beaten  and  then  deserted  his  wife,  and 
left  her  and  her  babe  to  the  mercy  of  strangers.  He 
had  murdered  a  man,  too,  out  of  pure  wantonness,  and 
had  eluded  the  punishment  of  his  crime  by  breaking 
from  jail.  Had  such  a  creature  the  right  to  live,  to 
enjoy  the  blessings  of  earth  ?  God  knows  what  crimes 
this  Sweeny  might  have  committed  had  he  continued  in 
his  corrupt  career  !  When  he  was  intoxicated  the  last 
vestige  of  a  human  being  seemed  to  vanish,  and  he  be- 
came a  beast,  capable  of  any  atrocity.  Was  it  a  crime 
to  kill  an  irresponsible  brute,  whose  existence  was  apt 
to  become  a  curse  to  the  world?  Were  not  scores  of 
tigers  and  wolves  slain  for  the  mere  fact  that  their  fangs 
and  claws  were  dangerous  ?  And  was  a  drunken,  besot- 
ted, insane  wretch  better  than  a  beast  of  the  forest  ? 
No  !  Isaac  had  committed  no  wrong  in  ridding  the 
earth  of  such  a  being.  Rather  was  he  entitled  to  the 
world's  gratitude.  God  would  surely  view  the  matter 
in  its  proper  light  and  be  merciful. 

"  For  the  murderer  there  is  no  atonement."  In  spite 
of  Schwartz's  arguments,  the  words  of.  the  Rabbi  still 
rankled  in  his  memory,  and  their  persistence  overthrew 
all  his  hopes  and  theories. 

Ah,  but  the  Rabbi  said  nothing  about  killing  a  man 
in  self-defence.  That  was  surely  a  different  matter  from 
slaying  a  fellow-being  in  cold  blood.  Had  not  Sweeny 
threatened  many  a  time  to  shoot  him,  his  inoffending 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  131 

partner  ?  Had  he  not  on  one  occasion  sent  a  ball  whizz- 
ing past'  his  ear?  On  the  fatal  night  had  he  not 
grasped  Isaac's  wrist  with  one  hand,  while  he  tried  to 
draw  his  revolver  with  the  other  ?  It  was  but  the  work 
of  a  few  seconds,  and  Isaac  would  have  been  among  the 
dead.  Was  he  wrong  in  seizing  the  first  weapon  he 
could  find  and  using  it  in  self-defence  ?  Was  not  his 
life,  on  which  depended  the  support  of  a  wife  and  two 
innocent  children,  of  more  value  than  that  of  a  scoun- 
drel who  had  severed  his  ties  with  society  and  was  at 
war  with  mankind?  Assuredly  God  meant  him  to 
defend  himself.  The  sudden  inspiration  to  grasp  the 
pick,  the  remarkable  strength  and  precision  with  which 
he  hurled  it  at  his  adversary,  must  have  been  given 
by  God  to  serve  a  useful  purpose.  God  meant  him 
to  be  the  instrument  of  his  vengeance  and  to  rid  the 
world  of  this  abomination. 

"  For  the  murderer  there  is  no  atonement."  Still  the 
words  rang  in  his  ear,  but  feebler  than  before.  Reason 
was  beginning  to  outweigh  conscience.  Isaac  continued 
his  musings. 

"  If  my  crime  were  discovered,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  I  could  prove  that  I  did  the  killing  in  self-defence ; 
that  Sweeny  threatened  my  life,  and  that  I  employed 
the  only  means  at  hand  to  assure  my  safety.  It  was 
not  a  premeditated  slaughter.  In  spite  of  his  constant 
persecutions,  I  never  meant  to  kill  him.  I  fought  hero- 
ically against  every  suggestion  to  rid  myself  of  his  com- 
pany. There  is  no  court  of  justice  which,  knowing 
the  circumstances,  would  condemn  me  to  death  as  a 
murderer.  They  might  convict  me  of  manslaughter, 


132  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

and,  at  the  worst,  I  would  atone  for  my  crime  by  a 
short  term  of  imprisonment.  But  can  bodily  punish- 
ment, however  severe,  cleanse  the  conscience  and  wash 
away  remorse  ?  Can  retribution  on  earth  procure  par- 
don for  me  in  heaven  ?  No  doubt  of  it !  God,  who 
gave  the  criminal  a  city  of  refuge  on  earth,  will  not 
deny  him  absolution  in  the  world  to  come.  God  cannot 
afford  to  be  less  merciful  than  man.  It  is  incredible 
that  God,  who  knows  the  circumstances  of  my  crime, 
should  show  me  no  mercy,  should  hold  out  no  hope  of 
redemption.  I'll  not  believe  it.  The  Rabbis  are  but 
human,  and  judge  from  their  own  weak  and  selfish 
standpoint.  God  will  be  merciful.  He  will  forgive  !" 
Plausible  as  Isaac's  reasoning  seemed,  it  did  not 
entirely  reassure  him.  The  consciousness  of  his  guilt 
pressed  heavily  upon  him.  He  remembered  that  he 
had  on  many  occasions  wished  for  Sweeny's  death. 
There  was  the  money,  too  !  Half  of  it  belonged  to 
him,  by  virtue  of  the  labor  expended  upon  it  and  the 
contract  made  with  Sweeny.  But  the  other  half?  To 
that  he  had  no  moral  right.  To  murder  he  had  added 
theft.  Of  a  sudden  he  thought  of  Sweeny's  wife  and 
child,  deserted  and  abandoned,  destitute  perhaps  of  the 
barest  necessities  of  life,  wandering  as  beggars  over  the 
surface  of  the  earth.  They  were  perhaps  anxiously 
awaiting  the  return  of  a  repentant  husband  and  pro- 
vider, little  dreaming  that  he  lay  cold  and  dead  in  the 
Far  West.  Isaac  shuddered  at  the  mental  picture  he 
had  invoked.  What  was  the  poverty  he  had  endured, 
compared  with  the  inexpressible  misery  this  family 
might  be  doomed  to  experience  ? 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  133 

"Oh,  if  I  had  but  left  half  of  the  gold,"  sighed  the 
harassed  culprit,  "it  might  have  eventually  found  its 
way  to  the  family  of  the  deceased.  And  yet,  if  I  had 
left  it,  some  of  the  members  of  the  gang  might  have 
come  back  and  discovered  it ;  or  a  strange  miner  might 
have  found  and  appropriated  it.  Surely  I  had  a  better 
right  to  it  than  they.  It  was  of  no  use  to  Sweeny's  stiff- 
ening clay,  while  to  me  it  was  a  fortune.  It  was  mine ! 
I  had  a  right  to  take  it,  for  want  of  a  better  owner." 

The  sermon  was  long  since  over.  The  reader  was 
again  chanting  the  prayers.  Isaac  saw  and  heard  no- 
thing. He  sat  as  rigid  as  a  statue,  with  his  head  buried 
in  his  palms,  busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  Morning 
had  waned;  the  afternoon  prayers  had  begun.  The 
worshipers  became  restless  under  the  influence  of  the 
lengthy  service,  the  oppressive  heat  and  their  prolonged 
fast.  Many  left  their  seats  and  wandered  into  the  cool 
vestibule  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  Here  they  met 
acquaintances,  and  after  asking  each  other  how  they 
were  fasting,  and  exchanging  similar  seasonable  compli- 
ments, returned  to  their  pews  to  continue  their  devo- 
tions. Little  boys  brought  their  parents  lemons,  sym- 
metrically and  artistically  ornamented  with  cloves,  the 
refreshing  odor  of  which,  by  appealing  to  their  olfac- 
tories, might  neutralize  their  pangs  of  hunger.  Men 
leaned  over  into  the  pews  of  their  neighbors,  and  for  a 
brief  moment  or  two  spoke  in  whispers  of  secular 
affairs.  Over  all  there  sounded  the  buzz  of  earnest 
prayer,  interrupted  at  intervals  by  the  deep  voice  of  the 
Chazzan,  who  with  voice  and  gesture  appealed  to  the 
Almighty  for  clemency. 


134  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

The  impressive  memorial  service  with  its  "Kaddisch" 
was  followed  by  the  monotonous  evening  service.  Still 
Isaac  stirred  not.  He  might  have  been  in  a  trance.  At 
length,  when  the  declining  sun  sent  its  slanting  rays 
through  the  little  windows  of  the  synagogue,  he  lifted 
his  head.  The  ray  of  light  fell  upon  his  haggard  face, 
and  lit  it  up  with  a  strange  gleam.  Isaac's  struggle  had 
been  long  and  severe.  He  had  viewed  his  crime  from 
every  standpoint,  and  had  endeavored  to  find  a  solution 
to  the  difficulty  in  which  he  found  himself.  At  length 
he  had  made  peace  with  himself  and  with  his  God.  He 
had  mapped  out  a  plan  of  action,  a  mode  of  life,  which 
would  atone  for  his  misdeeds.  The  money  he  had  taken 
should  prove  a  blessing  not  only  to  himself,  but  to  all 
the  world.  He  would  be  a  help  to  the  needy,  a  father 
to  the  orphan,  a  comforter  to  the  oppressed.  He  would 
utilize  his  ill-gotten  fortune  to  spread  cheer  and 
comfort.  He  would  save  many  a  human  life  from 
misery  and  woe,  and  thereby  atone  for  the  life 
he  had  ruthlessly  destroyed.  He  would  make  an 
effort  to  look  up  Sweeny's  family,  and  by  restor- 
ing to  them  the  half  of  the  fortune  rightfully  be- 
longing to  them,  he  would  make  amends  for  his 
crime.  He  would  be  the  means  of  bringing  happi- 
ness and  sunshine  into  this  destitute  and  stricken 
family,  and  by  his  own  ministrations  compensate  for 
the  years  of  neglect  they  had  experienced.  Under  the 
influence  of  his  noble  resolutions  all  his  superstition 
seemed  to  have  vanished,  and  given  place  to  an  abid- 
ing faith  in  the  wisdom  and  mercy  of  God,  and  in 
the  efficacy  of  good. 


The  Day  of  Atonement.  135 

"  Atonement !  I  will  find  it  before  God  and  man  ! " 
he  cried. 

The  tones  of  the  Shofar  sounded  through  the  evening 
air.  The  Day  of  Days  was  at  an  end.  Slowly  the 
pious  Hebrews  wended  their  way  homeward,  happy  in 
the  belief  of  divine  forgiveness.  If  Isaac  was  not  as 
happy  as  they,  he  at  least  walked  as  firmly,  as  confi- 
dently; for  he  had  determined  on  great  and  noble 
things. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     PHILANTHROPIST. 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased, 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow, 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain, 
And  with  some  sweet,  oblivious  antidote 
Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ?" — Shakespeare. 

NEXT  day  Isaac  called  on  Rabbi  Kauffman.  In  his 
snug  and  comfortably  furnished  study,  which  Isaac 
well  remembered,  with  numerous  books  scattered  over 
the  tables  around  him,  sat  this  important  person,  en- 
gaged in  preparing  a  sermon  for  the  following  Sabbath. 
His  Saturday  sermons  were  usually  amplifications  of 
some  Torah  text,  or  some  allegorical  interpretations  of 
the  Scriptures,  plentifully  interlarded  with  powerful 
appeals  to  the  male  portion  of  his  congregation  to  honor 
the  house  of  prayer  with  their  presence.  If  the  good 
Rabbi  had  one  sorrow,  it  lay  in  the  fact  that  his  audi- 
ence on  Saturday  mornings  was  recruited  almost  exclu- 
sively from  the  ranks  of  the  women.  The  men  were 
for  the  most  part  engaged  in  earning  their  daily  bread, 
and  the  exigencies  of  their  calling  did  not  permit  of 
rest  on  the  Sabbath.  The  women,  as  we  have  seen,  sat 
in  the  gallery,  and  the  lower  portion  of  the  house  of 
worship  was  usually  a  barren  waste  of  empty  benches, 

136 


The  Philanthropist.  137 

which,  from  their  very  newness,  were  all  the  more  con- 
spicuous and  disheartening  to  a  minister  whose  duty  it 
was  to  fill  them.  To  be  sure,  he  might  always  count 
on  the  presence  of  a  few  retired  merchants  and  two  or 
three  ultra-pious  men,  who  snatched  a  few  hours  from 
their  business  and  hastened  to  the  synagogue,  only  to 
hurry  back  to  their  shops  when  services  were  over. 
The  Rabbi  was  obliged,  to  his  intense  disgust,  to  crane 
his  neck  and  gaze  upwards,  in  order  that  his  voice 
might  reach  the  greater  portion  of  his  hearers.  It  was 
the  old  story.  He  had  preached  against  this  indiffer- 
ence for  years,  but  no  one  heard  him  except  the  regu- 
lar habitues,  and  they  could  not  profit  by  his  exordiums. 

He  had  just  incorporated  into  the  sermon  before  him  a 
more  than  usually  powerful  appeal  for  a  better  observ- 
ance of  the  Sabbath,  and  was  reading  it  over,  with  a 
smile  of  satisfaction,  when  his  wife  announced  Mr. 
Schwartz. 

"  Ah,  welcome,  my  dear  Schwartz ! "  he  cried,  rising 
and  advancing  to  meet  his  guest.  "  I  am  delighted  to 
see  you." 

His  well-formed  face,  which  beamed  cheerfully  from 
beneath  a  little  velvet  cap,  gave  evidence  of  his  sin- 
cerity. 

"You  have  just  come  in  time,"  he  said,  when  Isaac 
had  taken  a  chair,  "  to  hear  what  I  have  written.  In 
fact,  I  was  thinking  of  you  when  I  wrote  it." 

"  Indeed,  you  do  me  honor,"  replied  the  visitor. 

"  Not  at  all ;  just  the  opposite.  You  shall  see,"  and 
he  proceeded  to  read  his  most  recent  composition. 
"There,"  he  said,  pushing  up  his  spectacles,  "that  is 


138  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

meant  for  you,  Mr.  Schwartz.  A  few  years  ago  you 
were  a  regular  attendant,  and  there  was  none  more 
interested  than  you  in  the  minute  observance  of  every 
Jewish  ceremonial.  Since  you  have  returned  from  your 
Western  trip,  however,  you  appear  to  have  deserted 
us  entirely.  What  excuse  have  you  to  offer,  Mr. 
Schwartz  ?  " 

The  Rabbi  looked  at  his  guest,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
merry  eye. 

"None,  except  unpardonable  negligence,"  replied 
Isaac. 

"  Well,  since  you  have  heard  my  sermon  and  admit- 
ted your  fault,  let  us  dismiss  the  subject.  Tell  what 
brings  you  to  me." 

"  Precisely  the  subject  on  which  you  have  just  lec- 
tured me.  I  want  to  confess  my  error  and  promise 
reparation." 

"You  mean — " 

"  I  mean  that  for  a  year  or  more  I  had  almost  for- 
gotten that  I  was  a  Jew,  but  that  I  now  return  to  the 
fold  repentant." 

The  Rabbi  shook  his  guest  heartily  by  the  hand. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  but  one  thing — namely,  that  one 
who  had  been  so  devout  should  have  become  so  indiffer- 
ent. Is  it  possible  that  a  few  months  in  the  West — " 

"A  few  months  in  the  West,  Rabbi,  will  do  a  great 
deal  towards  eradicating  the  little  religion  one  possesses. 
I  endeavored  to  retain  my  fervor  and  love  for  my  faith, 
and  succeeded.  One  day,  however,  a  crime  was  com- 
mitted— "  Here  Isaac's  voice  became  husky  and  he 
held  to  the  chair  for  support.  "  A  crime  was  commit- 


The  Philanthropist.  139 

ted,"  he  repeated,  tremulously.  "A  man  was  killed. 
It  gave  me  a  shock  such  as  I  never  experienced,  and  I 
lost  what  faith  I  had  in  the  divine  wisdom  which  is 
supposed  to  rule  over  the  universe.  I  have  been  a 
changed  man  since  that  day.  I  doubted  the  justice,  the 
existence  even  of  God." 

"And  have  you  been  cured  of  your  unbelief?" 

"  In  a  measure.  I  thought  over  the  matter  seriously 
at  the  synagogue  yesterday,  and  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  God  is  merciful,  although  his  ways  may  be  mys- 
terious. I  am  heartily  ashamed  of  my  indifference 
during  the  past  year,  and  will  endeavor  to  make 
amends." 

"Amen.  God  strengthen  you  in  your  resolution," 
replied  the  Rabbi. 

"You  can  do  much  to  strengthen  me  in  it.  Let  us 
come  together  more  frequently.  Let  me  share  your 
friendship." 

"  Have  I  not  always  been  your  friend,"  said  the  good 
man — "  in  adversity  and  in  prosperity  ?  " 

"  Indeed  you  have,"  said  Isaac,  cordially,  shaking  the 
other's  hand.  "To  whom  but  to  you  do  I  owe  my 
present  happiness  ?  "  When  he  spoke  of  his  happiness 
he  felt  as  though  his  heart  would  break  with  anguish, 
but  he  bit  his  lip  and  repressed  his  emotions.  "  I  need 
more  than  a  friend ;  I  need  a  counselor,  an  adviser," 
he  continued. 

For  an  instant  he  thought  of  confessing  his  secret  to 
the  Rabbi ;  but  cowardice  forbade  the  step  and  buried 
it  deeper  within  his  soul. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  Rabbi,  surprised. 


140  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  There  was  a  time,"  answered  Isaac,  "  when  I  read 
the  Talmud  and  loved  its  wise  precepts.  A  group  of 
devout  men  met  weekly  at  my  father's  house  and  dis- 
cussed the  meaning  of  the  wondrous  commentaries,  the 
works  of  Israel's  great  Rabbis.  Unfortunately  I  did 
not  pay  as  much  attention  to  these  studies  as  I  should 
have  done.  I  find  I  have  forgotten  much  of  the  little 
I  learned  in  my  youth.  The  Talmud,  which  I  remem- 
ber but  vaguely,  appears  to  me  but  sophistry  and  idle 
speculation." 

"  That  is  because  you  fail  to  comprehend  the  work. 
So  deep  and  philosophic  a  treatise  requires  for  its  com- 
prehension a  mind  attuned  to  its  beauties  and  alive  to 
its  inspirations." 

"And  yet  it  contains  much  which  to  our  American 
way  of  thinking  seems  utterly  trivial  and  inconsistent." 

"  Nevertheless  it  is  a  wonderful  storehouse  of  wisdom 
and  learning." 

"  I  should  like  to  come  together  with  you,  Rabbi,  and 
with  other  pious  Israelites  and  re-read  the  Talmud  in 
the  light  of  our  present  surroundings.  I  might  profit 
spiritually  by  such  a  course." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  I  am  glad  you  suggest  the  step, 
for  the  same  idea  has  presented  itself  to  me.  Let  us 
devote  every  Thursday  evening  of  the  week  to  the 
pious  work.  Others  will  join  us  when  they  hear  of  the 
undertaking." 

Isaac  smiled  gratefully.  The  poor  man  dared  not 
confess  that  his  one  object  in  examining  the  Talmud 
was  to  find  an  extenuating  chapter  to  fit  his  crime — a 
grain  of  comfort  for  his  oppressed  soul. 


The  Philanthropist.  141 

"  There  is  another  thing,  Rabbi,"  said  Isaac.  "  I 
am  wealthy  now,  and  prosperous.  When  I  was  poor  I 
came  to  you,  and  you  gave  me  aid.  Without  your 
assistance,  I  would  perhaps  never  have  reached  the  gold 
fields.  I  come  now  to  place  my  wealth  at  your  dis- 
posal. The  fortune  I  brought  with  me  was  wrested 
from  the  rocks  by  laborious  toil ;  it  was  watered  with 
the  tears  of  sorrow  and  pain.  I  mean  to  use  it  to  alle- 
viate pain  and  sorrow.  One  tenth  of  my  possessions 
and  one  tenth  of  my  gains,  from  now  on,  are  to  be 
devoted  to  the  needy.  Your  position  brings  you  in 
contact  with  poverty  and  misery.  Send  all  applicants 
for  charity  to  me.  I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  relieve 
their  wants." 

The  Rabbi  stood  speechless  with  surprise.  Then  he 
stammered  his  appreciation  of  the  noble  offer. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  replied  Isaac,  humbly.  "  My  gold 
has  caused  me  many  a  pang,  many  a  tear.  Hitherto 
I  have  used  it  selfishly,  and  it  has  been  a  curse.  If  I 
now  do  good  with  it,  I  confess  there  is  a  selfish  motive 
underlying  my  action  ;  I  wish  to  ease  ray  mind  of  the 
burden  this  wealth  has  imposed." 

"Who  giveth  to  the  poor,  lendeth  to  the  Lord," 
said  the  Rabbi,  joyfully.  "  May  the  God  of  Israel 
prosper  you !" 

Isaac  felt  childishly  happy  when  he  left  the  Rabbi's 
house.  He  stopped  at  a  stationer's  and  bought  a  large 
ledger.  With  this  he  hurried  to  his  store  and  with  pen 
and  ink  inscribed  on  its  cover  the  Hebrew  word 
"  Maaser  "  (tithes).  Herein  was  to  be  entered  the  tenth 
part  of  all  his  profits  for  the  benefit  of  the  needy.  It 


142  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

was  a  Biblical  custom  his  father  had  observed ;  so  would 
he.  Then  he  went  home  to  Lena,  and,  affectionately 
taking  her  hand,  he  told  her  of  the  noble  projects  which 
stirred  within  his  breast. 

He  told  her  nothing  of  his  crime,  he  lacked  the  cour- 
age to  do  this ;  but  laid  stress  upon  the  welcome  fact 
that  he  meant  to  do  away  with  trouble  and  fretting, 
lead  a  religious  life  and  devote  his  growing  fortune  to 
deeds  of  charity. 

Lena  wept  for  sheer  happiness.  The  world  wore  a 
brighter  aspect  for  her,  and,  like  a  sun  gilding  the  land- 
scape with  glory,  joy  seemed  to  dawn  and  give  promise 
of  a  new  existence.  After  the  first  transports  were 
over,  the  good  woman  asked  her  husband  to  begin  his 
charities  at  once  by  giving  her  ten  dollars  for  a  poor 
woman  who  was  at  that  moment  bewailing  her  cruel  lot 
in  the  kitchen. 

Bertha,  too,  shared  in  the  general  rejoicing,  and  on 
declaring,  with  a  smile,  that  she  was  too  poor  to  buy 
certain  indispensable  articles  of  toilet,  she  immediately 
found  herself  the  possessor  of  a  bank-note  which  would 
satisfy  her  wants  for  some  time  to  come.  Isaac  next 
returned  to  his  store,  where  the  agile  little  milliners  were 
ruining  their  eyes  over  his  work,  and  surprised  them 
almost  into  hysterics  by  voluntarily  raising  their  wages. 

The  charity  which  he  thus  inaugurated  at  home  did 
not  remain  there,  but  spread  its  blessed  wings  over  the 
entire  city.  The  Hebrew  Relief  Society  was  one  of  his 
first  beneficiaries,  and  as  it  was  in  an  impoverished 
condition,  it  did  not  refuse  his  proffered  help.  To  his 
synagogue  he  devoted  a  generous  sum. 


The  Philanthropist  143 

Mr.  Ehrlich,  who  had  a  number  of  important  im- 
provements in  contemplation,  went  personally  to  see  Mr. 
Schwartz  and  express  his  gratitude.  Having  acquitted 
himself  of  that  pleasant  duty,  he  remained  until  late  in 
the  evening  discussing  Schiller  with  Miss  Bertha,  for  it 
was  but  natural  that  the  gratitude  he  felt  for  the  brother 
should  in  some  way  also  include  the  sister. 

Schwartz  next  joined  every  lodge  and  society  in  town 
which  was  in  any  way  connected  with  the  amelioration 
of  the  condition  of  the  poor.  It  was  in  secret,  how- 
ever, that  he  did  most  good.  There  were  a  dozen  indi- 
gent widows  upon  his  private  list  who  received  a 
weekly  stipend,  and  who  never  guessed  the  identity  of 
their  benefactor.  Lena,  who  heartily  seconded  her  hus- 
band's works,  spent  whole  days  in  visiting  the  sick  and 
unfortunate,  and  baskets  of  wine  and  delicacies  inva- 
riably accompanied  her.  It  was  a  labor  she  de- 
lighted in. 

Not  a  Jewish  emigrant  arrived  in  town  who  did  not 
in  some  mysterious  manner  find  his  way  to  Isaac's 
house,  and  not  one  appealed  to  his  generosity  in  vain. 
The  State  was  soon  swarming  with  peddlers,  fitted  out 
with  their  stock-in-trade  from  Schwartz's  purse.  Pov- 
erty seemed  to  have  vanished  from  among  the  Jews. 

He  made  a  strenuous  effort  to  locate  Sweeny's  family ; 
wrote  to  the  mayors  of  various  cities  and  scanned  the 
lists  of  inmates  of  all  the  poorhouses  and  asylums  in 
the  land  ;  but  in  this  direction  his  labors  proved  futile. 

He  lived  in  a  veritable  whirlwind  of  good  deeds,  toil- 
ing and  giving  for  the  pleasure  it  afforded  him  and  for 
the  peace  of  mind  he  hoped  to  derive  from  it.  The 


144  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

blessings  so  lavishly  bestowed  returned  to  him  a  hun- 
dred fold.  So  rapidly  did  his  wealth  accumulate,  that 
he  often  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  a  sudden  and 
awful  reaction.  Like  Polycrates,  he  feared  the  resent- 
ment of  a  power  jealous  of  his  success.  He  argued,  in 
fear  and  trepidation,  that  prosperity  based  upon  so  cor- 
rupt a  beginning  could  not  endure,  and  though  the 
possession  of  money  made  him  miserable,  he  dreaded, 
nevertheless,  to  awake  and  find  his  fortune  vanished 
and  himself  the  shiftless  Shlemiel  that  he  was  in  the 
beginning. 

His  luck  was  marvelous.  There  came  to  him  one 
day  a  man  who  had  lost  his  wealth  through  unfortunate 
speculation.  Of  all  his  possessions  there  remained  but 
a  piece  of  land,  an  arid  waste  of  clay,  several  acres 
in  extent,  and  some  distance  outside  of  the  city  limits. 
His  chances  for  a  new  start  in  life  depended  upon  the 
sale  of  this  land,  but  unfortunately  he  could  find  no 
purchaser  for  it.  In  his  despair  he  appealed  to 
Schwartz. 

"And  how  much  will  see  you  out  of  your  difficulty, 
my  friend  ?"  asked  Isaac. 

The  man  named  his  price — a  considerable  figure — and 
Isaac,  without  a  word,  drew  his  check  for  the  amount. 

"  God  bless  you  I"  cried  the  man,  endeavoring  in  his 
gratitude  to  kiss  his  benefactor's  hand. 

The  money  meant  life,  honor  and  happiness  to  him. 
The  deeds  of  transfer  were  promptly  drawn  and  Isaac 
entered  the  amount  in  his  charity  ledger.  A  month 
later  a  new  railroad  was  projected,  and  this  very  land 
was  eagerly  sought  as  the  most  convenient  location  for 


The  Philanthropist.  145 

the  company's  shops.  A  sum  which  appeared  fabulous 
was  offered  for  it,  and  Isaac  accepted  it.  True  to 
his  principles,  however,  one  tenth  of  the  advance  in 
value  was  promptly  but  anonymously  sent  to  the  original 
owner  of  the  property. 

Alas  !  Isaac  was  mistaken  if  he  hoped  to  find  atone- 
ment in  charity.  His  bright  hopes  of  divine  forgive- 
ness with  which  he  beguiled  himself  on  Yom  Kippur 
eve  seemed  to  have  no  foundation,  save  in  his  own  san- 
guine mind.  When  there  was  nothing  to  give  and 
nothing  to  do,  he  paid  the  penalty  of  his  momentary 
pleasure  in  long  fits  of  melancholy.  He  was  not  suffi- 
ciently philosophical  to  rejoice  at  his  success.  Happy 
as  his  benevolence  made  him,  he  was  as  frequently 
despondent.  Oh,  if  he  could  but  buy  forgetfulness  as 
easily  as  he  bought  the  gratitude  of  his  people  !  If  he 
could  but  exorcise  that  apparition  of  a  murdered  man 
and  send  it  back  into  the  realms  of  oblivion  I  In  what- 
ever he  undertook,  in  whatever  work  of  charity  he  was 
engaged,  the  mocking  spectre  stood  at  his  side  and  poi- 
soned the  very  good  he  sought  to  accomplish. 

"  Do  you  think  by  this  to  atone  for  the  crime  of  mur- 
der ?"  The  taunting  accusation  rang  incessantly  in  his 
ears.  He  was  tormented  by  night  as  well  as  by  day, 
and  his  dreams  revolved  about  the  one  bloody  pivot. 
He  would  often  start  from  his  sleep  and  scream  with 
terror.  For  fear  that  Lena  might  discover  his  carefully 
guarded  secret,  from  his  somnambulistic  utterances,  he 
eventually  occupied  a  separate  room  on  the  top  floor  of 
his  dwelling. 

In  the  hope  of  finding  peace  of  soul,  Isaac  again  turned 
10 


146  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

to  religion.  No  longer  in  the  mystic  rites  of  Teph- 
illim  and  Messussoth  and  the  devout  observance  of  the 
dietary  laws — he  had  neglected  them  too  long  to  think 
of  reviving  them — but  in  an  endeavor  to  fathom  the 
mysteries  of  his  creed  and  to  find,  if  possible,  spiritual 
consolation  in  the  Torah  and  Talmud.  He  had  no 
objections  to  his  wife  continuing  to  observe  the  cere- 
monies as  of  old  relating  to  the  table  and  the  holidays ; 
but  as  for  himself,  by  a  strange  fancy,  he  chose  to  forget 
his  orthodoxy  of  former  days. 

The  arrangement  made  with  his  friend  the  Rabbi  for 
a  weekly  study  of  the  Talmud  was  faithfully  carried 
out,  but  received  a  sudden  and  fatal  set-back  in  a  pecu- 
liar and  unexpected  manner.  Attracted  by  the  prospect 
of  an  occasional  evening  agreeably  spent,  a  number  of 
congenial  acquaintances  met  in  the  minister's  study  and 
there  discussed  the  Talmud  in  its  relations  to  God  and 
man,  in  imitation  of  the  Rabbis  of  old — those  worthy 
masters,  whose  unselfish  labors  and  philosophical  minds 
handed  down  to  us  the  best  thoughts  of  Israel,  and  who, 
in  the  midst  of  persecution,  kept  alive  the  soul  of  their 
race  and  preserved  its  heritage  unsullied. 

That  the  men  who  assembled  weekly  at  Mr.  KaufF- 
man's  resembled  the  masterful  Rabbis  of  Talmudic 
days,  either  spiritually  or  physically,  no  one  will  venture 
to  assert.  It  was  undeniably  a  peculiar  assembly,  but 
its  members  were  prepared  to  work  with  a  vim  under 
Mr.  Kauffman's  able  guidance. 

First  and  foremost  came  the  parochial  president,  Mr. 
Rosenheim,  whose  intimacy  with  the  Talmud  had 
degenerated,  as  we  have  seen,  into  positive  familiarity. 


The  Philanthropist.  147 

To  have  left  him  out  of  these  gatherings  would  have 
been  an  insult  to  his  position,  as  well  as  to  his  wondrous 
knowledge  of  the  context  of  the  Babylonian  tomes. 
He  could  now,  without  fear  of  a  misquotation,  ask  "  Yot 
does  de  Talmud  say  ?"  and  regale  his  listeners  with  the 
actual  words  in  the  holy  tongue.  He  even  presumed  so 
far,  on  rare  occasions,  as  to  correct  the  Rabbi.  This 
was  not  done  in  a  spirit  of  criticism,  but  merely  to  show 
that  the  subject  was  not  a  sealed  book  to  him. 

Mr.  Levi  Rindskopf,  the  second  of  the  group,  was  a 
very  old-fashioned  man,  bent  double  with  rheumatism, 
over  whose  gray  head  sixty  unsuccessful  years  had 
passed.  He  was  a  watchmaker  by  trade,  but  was 
known  as  a  profound  student  of  Mishna  and  Gemara, 
and,  if  rumor  did  not  lie,  had  in  the  old  country  been  an 
expert  dabbler  in  Kabalah.  He  was  a  man  of  few 
words,  but  very  pious,  and  no  one  could  pray  with 
greater  unction  or  more  persistently  than  he. 

Meyer  Marks,  the  next  member,  was  a  man  of  more 
than  ordinary  utility  in  the  community,  for  he  was  the 
"  Schochet,"  the  butcher  who  slaughtered  the  cattle  in- 
tended for  Jewish  tables  according  to  prescribed  ritesj 
and  watched  conscientiously  for  any  signs  in  lung  or  in- 
testine that  would  render  the  carcass  unfit  for  food.  As 
behooves  a  man  of  his  sacred  calling,  he  was  pious  and 
uncompromising  in  all  things  pertaining  to  the  ritual. 

Moses  Manheim,  the  Chassan  or  reader  of  the  congre- 
gation, lent  the  Talmud  class  dignity  and  learning.  He 
was  a  close  student  of  Hebrew  literature,  and  a  deep 
thinker.  Mr.  Schwartz  and  the  Rabbi  completed  the 
little  circle. 


148  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Mr.  Bergthal  had  eagerly  applied  for  admittance,  for 
he  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  his  rival  in  business 
pushing  ahead  of  him  spiritually ;  but  Mr.  Rosenheim, 
with  less  charity  and  unselfishness  than  the  Rabbis  of 
old,  threatened  to  retire  if  his  competitor  became  one  of 
the  chosen  few,  for,  as  he  wisely  remarked,  "  One  cloding 
man  at  a  time  is  all  de  Talmud  can  stand  ! "  Bergthal, 
in  retaliation,  set  about  forming  a  class  in  English  litera- 
ture; but  alas,  the  project  came  to  grief  after  the  first 
meeting,  for  the  projector's  English  was  so  peculiar  and 
unconventional,  that  the  invited  members,  fearing  to  un- 
learn what  little  they  knew,  decided  not  to  launeh  out  on 
unknown  waters. 

The  Talmud  lessons  were  conducted  on  strictly  infor- 
mal lines.  The  Rabbi  would  read  a  section  and  ex- 
pound it  to  the  best  of  his  understanding,  and  each 
member  was  privileged  to  ask  any  question  or  suggest 
any  explanation. 

Poor  Isaac  was  doomed  to  disappointment  from  the 
outset.  The  great  book  in  which  he  had  formerly 
gloried  now  appeared  to  his  agitated  mind  and  fevered 
imagination  but  a  collection  of  metaphors  and  metaphys- 
ical discussions,  in  which  he  sought  in  vain  for  a  glim- 
mer of  reason.  He  came  with  a  heart  full  of  unspeak- 
able sorrow.  Why  had  these  subtle  reasoners  of  a 
bygone  age  no  consolation  for  him  ?  Why  did  they  not 
proclaim  God's  mercy  in  unmistakable  terms,  and  say 
that  while  man  might  err,  God  would  be  sure  to  forgive? 
Occasionally  there  was  a  chapter  to  fit  the  case,  but,  as 
a  rule,  there  were  disputations  without  end,  and  on  sub- 
jects in  which  the  practical  business  man  could  have  no 


The  Philanthropist.  149 

interest  whatever.  Why,  a  whole  evening  was  spent  in 
reading  and  discussing  the  opinions  of  these  worthy 
Talmudists  upon  the  propriety  of  eating  an  egg  laid 
upon  the  Sabbath  or  a  holiday  !  Another  evening  was 
devoted  to  an  extravagant  discussion  of  the  extent  of 
paradise  and  the  dimensions  of  Gehenna.  When  at 
times  some  really  beautiful  chapter  of  the  Mishna  was 
considered,  the  commentators  had  managed  to  twist  it 
into  such  obscure  allegory,  that  the  clear  and  concise 
meaning  of  the  subject  was  utterly  lost  in  a  maze  of 
useless  words. 

Rabbi  Kauffman  was  well  versed  in  Talmud,  and  we 
will  do  him  the  justice  to  say  he  believed  it  to  be  a  God- 
inspired  work.  So  had  Isaac  believed  once  upon  a 
time,  but  that  was  all  over  now.  He  reproached  him- 
self bitterly  because  he  could  no  longer  take  an  interest 
in  what  Rabbi  Hillel  or  Rabbi  Schammai  said.  Had 
he  become  so  indifferent  to  his  faith,  or  perhaps  so 
wrapped  up  in  business,  as  to  be  unable  to  appreciate  a 
noble  and  philosophical  thought  ?  Had  his  association 
with  common-sense  American  customs  rendered  his 
mind  too  obtuse  to  grasp  these  Oriental  subtleties? 
There  is  no  doubt  that  each  of  these  circumstances 
added  their  influence,  but  greater  than  all  was  the  recol- 
lection of  his  crime.  He  could  derive  no  pleasure  from 
these  abstract  reasonings,  with  the  certainty  of  his  guilt 
ever  before  his  eyes.  He  hoped  to  find  some  passage 
which  promised  him  absolution  and  grace.  He  knew 
that  the  Talmud  must  be  teeming  with  consolatory  doc- 
trines, but  he  lacked  the  patience  to  wait  until  such 
passages  should  come  up  for  discussion.  All  that  did 


150  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

not  directly  or  indirectly  apply  to  his  case  appeared 
irrelevant  and  absurd. 

The  discussion  one  evening,  starting  from  a  disputed 
point  on  ethics,  soon  assumed  a  direction  which  became 
interesting  to  Schwartz. 

"  While  it  is  impossible  to  legislate  for  all  times  and 
places/'  said  the  Rabbi,  in  the  course  of  an  argument, 
"there  are  certain  well-defined  principles  of  morality 
which  apply  to  all  nations.  To  transgress  these  argues 
lack  of  character  and  a  disposition  to  evil." 

"A  man  may  have  the  most  moral  of  characters," 
said  Schwartz,  "and  still  on  occasion  do  a  wrong. 
He  may  have  the  best  of  resolutions,  and  still  be  led 
into  acts  at  variance  with  them.  We  are  sometimes 
ruled  by  circumstances  which  we  can  neither  foresee 
nor  avoid." 

"  Possibly,"  replied  the  Rabbi,  who,  though  tolerant, 
was  so  rigid  in  his  own  actions  as  to  look  with  horror 
on  every  wrong  in  others ;  "  but  a  man  must  be  pre- 
disposed to  evil  to  fall  an  easy  prey  to  circumstances. 
A  soul  of  absolute  rectitude  will  rise  superior  to  cir- 
cumstances." 

"  We  know,"  suggested  Mr.  Manheim,  "  that  oppor- 
tunity makes  the  thief." 

"  True,"  said  the  minister ;  "  without  the  opportunity 
he  could  not  have  become  a  thief;  but  the  germs  of 
thievery,  if  I  may  use  such  an  unusual  expression, 
must  have  lain  dormant  in  his  nature,  or  opportunity 
would  have  left  him  untouched." 

Schwartz  shook  his  head  in  dissent,  and  was  silent 
for  a  moment.  Presently  he  said,  in  an  excited  manner : 


The  Philanthropist.  151 

"You  surely  don't  consider  a  person  who  has  hon- 
estly fought  against  temptation,  and  has  fallen  never- 
theless, as  bad  as  one  who  has  made  no  effort  at  all." 

"  Not  quite,"  said  the  minister.  "  I  may  pity  him, 
perhaps,  but  the  consequences  are  pitiless.  Our  deeds 
bear  their  reward  or  punishment,  regardless  of  the 
secret  struggle  that  preceded  them.  The  law  takes 
note  of  the  crime  and  the  motives  that  led  up  to  it,  but 
does  not  concern  itself  with  the  doubts,  resolutions  and 
excuses  which  the  criminal  may  have  indulged  in  before 
he  committed  the  act.  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Schwartz,  you 
certainly  can  have  nothing  to  gain  by  pleading  in  favor 
of  crime,  for  to  a  man  as  inflexible  in  morals  as  you  are 
all  evil  must  be  abhorrent." 

The  Rabbi  looked  straight  at  Schwartz  over  his  spec- 
tacles as  he  said  this,  with  an  air  of  friendly  interest, 
which  to  the  other  appeared  as  undoubted  suspici6n. 

He  became  very  pale  and  gasped  for  breath;  but, 
recovering,  he  replied,  as  calmly  as  possible  : 

"  Because  I  strive  to  do  right  does  not  make  me  less 
tolerant  to  the  faults  of  others,  and  knowing  how  easily 
men  may  yield  to  temptation,  I  like  to  speculate  on  the 
consequence  of  an  unfortunate  slip  from  the  path  of 
virtue.  Let  us  go  on  with  the  reading." 

The  subject  changed ;  but  during  the  entire  evening 
Schwartz  was  absent-minded  and  ill  at  ease. 

On  the  fifth  Talmudic  evening  the  conversation  acci- 
dentally referred  to  the  crime  of  murder.  At  length 
Isaac's  patience  was  to  be  rewarded.  A  passage  was 
considered  relating  to  the  slaughter  of  animals  for  food. 

Said  Meyer  Marks,  the  Schochet :  "  Our  manner  of 


152  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

killing  cattle  is  the  most  humane  that  can  be  devised. 
The  knife  employed  must  be  sharp  and  without  a  flaw ; 
the  cutting  must  be  done  at  a  single  stroke  across  the 
windpipe  and  arteries  of  the  throat.  In  this  way  the 
principal  blood-vessels  are  severed,  and  the  animal  ex- 
pires before  any  pain  has  been  felt.  It  is  a  well-known 
fact  that  if  a  cut  is  inflicted  with  a  sharp  knife  the 
pain  is  insignificant.  Besides,  the  blood,  that  great 
vehicle  of  disease  germs,  is  rapidly  drained  off.  I 
have  seen  animals  killed,  according  to  the  prevailing 
method  of  knocking  them  senseless,  where  several  brutal 
blows  were  necessary  to  relieve  the  animal  of  its  misery, 
while  all  the  time  the  poor  brute  gave  vent  to  its  anguish 
in  almost  human  groans." 

"It  strikes  me,"  said  Rindskopf,  "as  positively 
sinful  to  kill  an  animal  at  all.  Who  gives  us  the  right 
to  lay  hands  upon  the  meanest  of  God's  creatures  and 
deprive  it  of  life  ?" 

"Are  you  an  apostle  of  vegetarianism,  my  friend?" 
asked  the  Rabbi,  smiling.  "Cattle  were  intended  for 
food.  God  himself  has  so  decreed  it." 

"  Possibly.  But  considering  the  vast  number  of 
beasts  killed  in  wanton  sport,  or  slaughtered  for  their 
hides  and  allowed  to  rot  on  the  field — is  not  that  sin- 
ful?" 

"You  are  right,"  interrupted  Schwartz,  with  great 
animation.  "  I  have  seen  on  the  Western  plains  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  buffaloes  killed  for  the  mere 
sport  of  seeing  them  struggle  and  die,  and  then  left  to 
putrefy  in  the  sun." 

Mr.  Rindskopf,  the  student,  whom  the  thought  of 


The  Philanthropist.  153 

blood  always  caused  to  shiver,  cried  out,  in  indigna- 
tion : 

"  Oh,  it  is  horrible !  To  kill  a  beast  for  wanton 
amusement  is  as  cruel  as  killing  a  human  being." 

The  Rabbi  held  out  his  hand  with  a  deprecating  ges- 
ture. 

"All  the  beasts  of  the  field  are  not  worth  a  human 
life,"  he  said.  "  The  eradication  of  an  entire  species 
would  be  a  cheap  price  to  pay  for  the  life  of  the  most 
contemptible  man  on  earth." 

"  Still  there  are  men  everywhere — drunkards,  liber- 
tines, thieves — whose  life  is  a  curse  to  humanity,  and 
whose  death  would  be  a  boon." 

It  was  Isaac  who  spoke,  and  his  voice  trembled  with 
suppressed  feeling. 

"  It  is  not  for  us  to  judge  them  worthy  of  death,  or  to 
mete  them  out  their  punishment,"  said  the  Rabbi.  "  It 
is  true,  man  is  but  an  animal ;  but  he  is  formed  in  the 
image  of  God.  He  possesses  a  soul,  breathed  into  him 
by  his  Creator.  He  who  kills  a  man  lays  hands  upon 
God,  and  for  him  there  can  be  no  forgiveness.  There- 
fore has  murder  always  been  considered  the  most  heinous 
of  sins.  The  Jew  has  ever  had  a  horror  of  wantonly 
shedding  blood." 

Isaac  had  become  pale  as  the  Rabbi  spoke,  and  could 
with  difficulty  repress  his  feelings.  A  storm  of  emotion 
swept  through  his  soul.  He  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  And  were  a  murderer  to  come  to  you  and  ask  you 
what  course  to  pursue  in  order  that  he  might  obtain 
peace  of  mind,  what  would  you  advise  ?  What  conso- 
lation would  you  offer  ?  " 


154  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

The  Rabbi  reflected  a  moment. 

"  I  have  little  sympathy  with  a  murderer,"  he  an- 
swered. "I  should  advise  him  to  deliver  himself  to 
the  authorities  and  expiate  his  crime.  I  should  tell 
him  that  only  subsequent  trials  have  the  power  to  wash 
away  his  guilt." 

"  Your  doctrine  is  absurd  ! "  cried  Isaac,  a  prey  to 
violent  agitation.  "  It  is  blasphemous !  There  may 
be.  different  degrees  of  murder,  and  are  they  all  to  be 
judged  alike?  Does  the  law  punish  the  thief  who 
steals  a  loaf  of  bread  to  allay  his  hunger  with  the  same 
severity  as  one  who  has  robbed  the  widow  and  the 
orphan  ?  A  man  may  be  goaded  to  murder  by  perse- 
cutions and  injuries;  he  may  be  driven  to  it  by  self- 
defence;  he  may  commit  the  crime  in  a  moment  of 
madness.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  for  all  of  these 
cases  he  merits  the  same  punishment  on  earth  and  the 
same  misery  hereafter  as  in  the  case  of  premeditated 
killing  ?  It  is  absurd,  I  tell  you  ;  and  to  say  that  God 
has  no  pardon  for  a  murderer  is  debasing  Jehovah  to 
the  level  of  a  cruel  and  vindictive  judge." 

"  Friend  Schwartz,"  said  the  Eabbi,  surprised  at  the 
vehemence  of  Isaac's  speech,  "  to  judge  by  your  agita- 
tion, one  would  imagine  that  you  were  a  murderer, 
pleading  for  mercy.  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  guilty 
of  such  a  crime  ?  " 

The  words  were  spoken  in  jest,  but  to  Isaac  they  had 
a  fearful  significance.  It  was  the  second  time  the  Rabbi 
had  appeared  to  suspect  him.  He  became  livid  and 
sank  back  into  his  chair.  He  looked  piteously  about 
him  and  wiped  the  cold  perspiration  from  his  brow. 


The  Philanthropist.  155 

"  When  I  was  in  the  West,"  he  stammered,  at  length, 
"  I  saw  a  murder  committed.  It  was  done  in  self- 
defence  ;  but  the  recollection  of  it  has  never  left  me  by 
day  or  by  night." 

Schwartz  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  and  shuddered. 

"  We  cannot  evade  God's  commandments,"  said  the 
Rabbi,  gently,  "  without  holding  ourselves  responsible 
for  the  results.  I  have  often  told  you  in  my  sermons 
that  restitution  is  the  prime  essential  of  atonement.  In 
the  case  of  murder  this  is  clearly  impossible.  Where 
the  criminal  delivers  himself  to  the  authorities  and 
expiates  his  crime,  he  has  in  a  measure  atoned  for  his 
offence ;  and  we,  who  believe  in  God's  fatherly  love,  can 
confidently  hold  out  the  prospect  of  eventual  pardon. 
But  for  the  criminal  who  conceals  his  crime  and  evades 
its  punishment,  there  can  be  no  atonement,  save  that 
which  may  possibly  come  from  a  long  life  of  remorse." 

"  Horrible  doctrine !"  cried  Schwartz,  upon  whom 
the  Rabbi's  words  made  an  indelible  impression.  "  It 
cannot  be  as  you  say.  You  are  judging  God  by  your 
own  ideas  and  by  human  standards." 

"How  else  can  we  judge  God,"  asked  the  Rabbi, 
"  but  by  what  we  feel  to  be  right  and  true  ?  Justice 
remains  justice,  whether  on  earth  or  in  heaven,  and  our 
ideas  of  justice  have  been  implanted  by  God  himself." 

Had  Isaac  been  less  moved  and  more  amenable  to 
reason,  he  would  have  learned  from  the  Rabbi  that  this 
doctrine  of  retribution  applied  only  to  willful  murder, 
with  malice  aforethought,  but  that  killing  in  self- 
defence,  or  as  a  result  of  accident,  was  dealt  with  very 
gently  by  Jewish  law.  Indeed,  the  very  next  lesson  in 


156  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

the  Talmud  would  have  elucidated  much  that  was  dark 
to  the  unhappy  merchant ;  but  that  next  chapter  Isaac 
never  learned.  He  had  lost  all  hope  of  finding  a  balm 
for  his  wounds  in  the  venerable  Rabbinical  tomes. 

It  was  evident  that  he  dared  not  again  discuss  the 
subject  with  his  friends,  for  he  perceived  that  he  was  not 
master  of  his  emotions,  and  that  a  moment  of  agitation 
might  betray  him.  His  visits  to  the  Rabbi's  house  were 
therefore  discontinued,  and  Isaac  felt  a  growing  repug- 
nance towards  the  Talmud,  which  he  so  utterly  failed  to 
understand. 

The  charity  which  he  spread  with  lavish  hand 
became  mechanical  in  the  course  of  time,  and  failed  to 
give  him  the  pleasurable  excitement  he  craved.  His 
morose  and  gloomy  disposition  was  constantly  exerting 
itself.  He  was  still  reveling  in  the  possession  of 
Sweeny's  half  of  the  fortune,  to  which  he  had  no  moral 
right  whatever.  His  endeavors  to  find  Dick's  family 
had  remained  fruitless.  One  day,  while  brooding  over 
the  matter,  he  was  inspired  by  a  sudden  idea.  Sweeny 
had  been  a  Catholic.  If  the  dead  man's  family  could 
not  enjoy  the  possession  of  his  share,  it  should  at  least 
go  to  Catholic  charities. 

"When  once  an  idea  took  possession  of  his  brain,  it 
grew  until  it  drove  out  all  other  thoughts  and  left  him 
no  peace  of  mind  until  it  was  carried  into  execution. 
For  a  day  and  a  night  he  reflected  how  best  to  realize 
his  new  project,  and  ended  by  putting  on  his  hat  and 
paying  a  visit  to  Father  Kelly,  an  influential  priest,  the 
head  of  the  Church  of  St.  Lawrence. 

Father  Kelly  was  a  worthy  man,  endowed  with  a 


The  Philanthropist.  157 

passionate  nature,  a  fertile  imagination,  and  an  over- 
whelming love  for  his  religion.  His  contemplative 
mind  led  him  to  look  upon  religion  as  the  greatest  factor 
in  life,  without  which  there  could  be  no  happiness  here 
or  in  the  hereafter.  He  was  a  man  of  profound  and 
immutable  convictions,  prominent  among  which  was, 
naturally  enough,  the  belief  that  his  church  alone  held 
the  key  to  salvation.  In  spite  of  this  doctrine  he  asso- 
ciated freely  with  men  of  opposite  opinions,  made  friends 
with  people  of  all  shades  of  belief,  and  was  esteemed 
by  all  who  knew  him  as  an  honorable  and  upright  rep- 
resentative of  God  on  earth.  He  delighted  in  argu- 
ment and  controversy,  and  was  thoroughly  content 
only  when  trying  to  convince  a  skeptic  of  the  supe- 
riority of  his  doctrines.  To  give  up  discussion  and 
disputation  would  have  deprived  life  of  its  principal 
charm. 

The  priest  was  at  home  in  the  parochial  dwelling  in 
the  rear  of  the  church.  He  occupied  a  charming  room, 
with  a  projecting  bay  window  looking  out  upon  a 
delightful  stretch  of  green  lawn  and  cheerful  flowers. 
The  low  bookcase,  well  filled  with  ecclesiastical  works ; 
the  oak  centre  table,  with  its  large  nosegay  of  flowers,  a 
daily  offering  from  some  kindly  disposed  parishioner ; 
the  shrilly  warbling  canary  hanging  near  the  window, 
and  the  numerous  highly  colored  reprints  of  sacred  pic- 
tures on  the  walls,  all  lent  an  air  of  comfort  to  the  spa- 
cious apartment  and  threw  a  ray  of  cheer  into  Isaac's 
heart.  He  felt  as  though  it  were  pleasant  to  be  there. 
There  was  none  of  that  sordid  contraction  which  hemmed 
in  Rabbi  Kauffman's  study. 


158  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Father  Kelly  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  receiving 
such  an  unexpected  caller. 

"  To  what  may  I  attribute  the  honor  of  your  visit  ?" 
he  asked,  placing  a  chair  for  his  guest. 

"  I  come  to  you  in  reference  to  some  plans  which  have 
occurred  to  me  recently.  Your  reverence  has  doubt- 
less many  applications  for  charity  ?" 

The  priest  smiled  at  the  question. 

"More  than  we  can  relieve,  Mr.  Schwartz.  The 
poor  we  have  always  with  us,  and  the  little  money  we 
receive  from  the  charitably  inclined  scarcely  suffices  for 
our  most  pressing  needs." 

"But  you  have  many  wealthy  adherents  to  your 
church  ?" 

"  This  is  a  selfish  age,"  replied  the  priest,  "  and  the 
demands  of  one's  family  and  business  are  such  as  to 
leave  little  for  the  poor.  Nevertheless  there  are  many 
liberal  givers  in  my  flock — people  who  make  use  of 
their  wealth  for  the  purpose  of  alleviating  the  distress 
of  others.  We  need  more  people  like  yourself,  Mr. 
Schwartz,  for  you  make  charity  the  aim  of  your  life." 

Schwartz  reddened  at  the  compliment  and  tried  to 
disclaim  any  credit. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  the  priest;  "it  won't  do  to  be  too 
modest.  The  reports  of  your  philanthropy  have  long 
ago  reached  my  ears,  and  I  have  observed  with  pleasure 
the  judicious  employment  you  have  made  of  your 
money." 

"  It  is  upon  that  very  subject  that  I  came  to  speak," 
replied  Isaac,  taking  a  scat  at  the  priest's  solicitation. 
"  I  owe  my  start  in  life  to  a  Catholic.  He  and  I  worked 


The  Philanthropist.  159 

together  in  the  gold  fields,  and  partially  through  his 
labors  I  was  enabled  to  return  home  richer  than  I  went 
away." 

Isaac  paused  to  compose  his  mind.  He  could  never 
allude  to  his  association  with  Sweeny  without  experienc- 
ing an  uncontrollable  nervousness  which  made  speech 
difficult.  After  a  moment  he  continued  more  calmly : 

"  Hitherto  I  have  given  principally  to  Jewish  chari- 
ties. I  now  feel  a  desire  to  do  something  for  the  poor 
of  my  partner's  denomination,  and  I  therefore  come  to 
you  as  the  most  fitting  person  to  assist  me." 

The  priest  rose  and  seized  Schwartz's  hand. ' 

"  How  can  I  thank  you,  noblest  of  men  ?"  he  cried. 
"  How  can  I  requite  such  disinterested  generosity  ?" 

"  How  ?  I  will  tell  you.  By  employing  the  money 
to  the  best  advantage,  and  by  teaching  henceforth  that 
the  Jew  is  not  as  bad  as  he  is  represented  to  be." 

"I  have  always  taught  that,"  answered  the  priest. 
"  I  have  always  said  that  if  the  Jews  but  recognized  the 
Son  of  God,  they  would  make  the  most  excellent  Cath- 
olics the  world  has  ever  seen." 

Isaac  smiled  faintly.  "  This  little  difference  of  doc- 
trine, however,  need  not  keep  us  apart,"  he  said. 

"  As  to  the  money,"  replied  Father  Kelly,  "  you  may 
rely  upon  me  to  spend  it  to  the  best  advantage." 

"  I  have  confidence  in  you,"  replied  Schwartz,  taking 
a  paper  from  his  pocket.  "Here  is  a  check  for  one 
thousand  dollars.  When  this  is  all  spent,  you  may  come 
to  me  for  more." 

"  This  is  munificent  beyond  words,"  cried  the  over- 
joyed priest,  as  his  eyes  beheld  the  amount.  "  What 


160  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

good  can  I  not  accomplish  with  this  fortune?  But 
surely  it  cannot  be  your  desire  to  allow  me  to  dispose  of 
so  much  money  according  to  my  own  pleasure.  Would 
it  not  be  better  for  you  to  decide  how  it  is  to  be  spent?" 

"  No,  my  friend  !  I  have  my  business  to  attend  to. 
With  your  permission,  however,  I  will  call  from  time  to 
time,  and  together  we  may  devise  some  schemes  for  alle- 
viating the  condition  of  our  needy  fellow-men." 

"  You  will  always  be  welcome  at  my  house,"  replied 
the  priest,  heartily;  "I  shall  feel  honored  by  your 
visits." 

"  What  a  pity  he  is  a  Jew,"  he  cried,  at  length,  after 
Isaac's  departure.  "  Such  a  man  would  be  a  credit  to 
our  holy  church." 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE   CANDIDATE. 

f 

"  Oh,  that  the  slave  had  forty  thousand  lives ! 
One  is  too  poor,  too  weak,  for  my  revenge." 

— Shakespeare. 

MR.  BERGTHAL,  was  standing  at  the  door  of  his 
Mammoth  Clothing  Emporium  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  con- 
tentedly puffing  a  cigar,  when  fate  led  Mr.  Jeremiah 
Logan  down  the  street  and  into  his  presence.  Mr.  Logan 
was  a  well  known  saloon-keeper  in  the  ward,  and  a 
prominent  candidate  for  the  office  of  alderman.  He 
was  a  tall,  thin  personality,  with  a  bristly  red  moustache 
and  a  sinister  gray  eye ;  a  man  of  few  words,  but  of 
great  influence.  Mr.  Logan  was  a  popular  man  with 
himself  and  with  the  ward-heelers,  and  there  was  little 
doubt  of  his  election. 

"  Goot  mornin',  Misther  Logan,"  said  Bergthal,  affa- 
bly, as  the  great  man  passed.  "  Ish  der  noddin'  you  vas 
vantin'  in  cloding?" 

This  was  Mr.  Bergthal's  stereotype  salutation,  and  was 
always  reinforced  by  an  appealing  and  insinuating  ges- 
ture with  both  hands.  It  brought  many  a  patron  to  his 
shop.  On  this  morning,  too,  it  proved  efficacious.  Mr. 
Logan  checked  his  onward  march,  reflected  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  said : 

11  161 


162  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Have  you  anything  decent  in  the  way  of  an  over- 
coat?" 

"Obergoat?"  repeated  the  merchant,  as  an  ecstatic 
expression  spread  over  his  features.  "  I  haf  of  ober- 
goats  der  finest  assortment  outside  of  New  York.  I 
haf  a  goat  vot's  der  finest  imported  beaver,  und  I  sold 
him  to  you  cheap." 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  Rosenheim' s,"  said  Mr.  Logan  ; 
"  but  if  you  can  suit  me,  I'd  just  as  soon  give  you  my 
trade,  and  buy  the  coat  from  you." 

The  name  of  Rosenheim  acted  on  Bergthal  like  a  red 
flag  on  a  bull.  His  face  grew  flushed  and  he  sniffed 
contemptuously. 

"  Rosenheim  ?  Vy  should  you  vant  to  go  dere  to  be 
cheated  ?  Cum  right  in  here.  I'll  sold  you  for  helluf 
vot  Rosenheim  sharge.  Cum  in,  Mr.  Logan.  Dry  dis 
obergoat  on.  Dot's  a  fine  shinshilla,  gelined  mit  der 
best  mohair." 

"What's  mohair?"  asked  Mr.  Logan,  who  was 
better  informed  about  the  different  varieties  of  liquor 
than  about  textile  fabrics. 

"  Mohair,"  explained  the  merchant,  "  vas  called  mohair 
pecause  it  from  der  hair  of  der  auimal  called  der  Mo  vas 
made." 

"I  never  heard  of  such  an  animal,"  said  the  embryo- 
nic alderman,  dubiously. 

"  I  pelief  dot,"  replied  the  other,  "  dot  animal  runs 
vild  on  der  mountains  of  Asia  und  Africa.  Id 
don'd  never  vas  caught  yet  alretty.  It  runs  der 
bushes  droo,  und  some  of  der  hair  ketches  on  der 
twigs  und  vas  pulled  out. '  Der  natives  gollect  dot 


The  Candidate.  163 

hair,  und  dot  makes  mohair.  Ya,  dot's  very  expensive 
stuff." 

The  overcoat  was  tried  on,  and  Mr.  Logan  surveyed 
himself  in  the  mirror.  Beyond  a  grunt,  which  might 
have  passed  for  satisfaction  or  the  reverse,  Mr.  Logan 
said  nothing. 

"  Dot's  a  goot  fit,  Mr.  Logan.  Yust  der  right  size, 
don'd  it  ?  Shinshillas  vas  vorn  a  leedle  big  dis  season. 
Ven  you  vas  an  alderman  elected,  you  feel  like  a  pigger 
man,  und  fill  it  oud  more  alretty." 

"  How  much  ? "  asked  Mr.  Logan,  laconically,  evi- 
dently well  pleased  with  his  reflection  in  the  glass. 

"  T'irty  dollars,"  replied  the  merchant,  rubbing  his 
hands  ecstatically,  as  he  surveyed  Mr.  Logan,  and  men- 
tally deciding  to  accept  fifteen,  if  he  couldn't  do  better. 

"  Thirty  dollars,"  repeated  Mr.  Logan,  after  an  addi- 
tional examination  of  his  double  in  the  mirror.  "I 
think  I'll  take  it." 

Mr.  Bergthal's  eyes  danced  with  delight.  Such  an 
easy  customer  was  a  rarity  on  Cedar  Street.  He  felt 
sorry  for  Rosenheim. 

"  I'll  keep  it  right  on  my  back,"  continued  the  politi- 
cian. "  Then  I'll  be  sure  I  am  getting  the  same  coat. 
Charge  it  up  to  me.  I'll  pay  you  next  month." 

Mr.  Logan  left  the  store  with  the  overcoat  on,  and 
Mr.  Bergthal  sank  upon  a  chair  hi  a  state  of  utter  col- 
lapse. When  a  man  is  a  candidate  for  office,  his  cash  is 
mightier  than  his  word.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Logan 
had  planned  some  coup  d'etat,  else  why  should  he  be  sat- 
isfied with  the  first  coat  he  had  put  on  ?  Why  should  he 
have  omitted  to  haggle  about  the  price  ?  Why  should 


164  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

he  have  worn  the  coat  when  the  atmosphere  was  sultry? 
Mr.  Logan  never  intended  to  pay  for  his  purchase.  In 
a  flash  the  tragic  fact  impressed  itself  forcibly  upon 
Bergthal's  brain. 

"  Mine  Gott,  I  am  ruined  I"  he  cried,  excitedly.  " The 
man  is  a  ganef  (thief)."  His  first  thought  was  to  shout 
"  Police/'  but  he  dismissed  the  idea  as  useless,  for  was 
not  the  future  alderman  a  special  protegS  of  the  police  ? 

The  more  the  poor  man  reflected  upon  his  misfor- 
tune, the  more  terrible  it  appeared.  He  brooded  over 
it  all  day,  declined  to  eat  his  meals,  and  passed  a 
sleepless  night.  He  sincerely  wished  he  had  allowed 
Rosenheim  to  make  the  sale.  His  greed  in  despoiling 
Rosenheim  appeared  as  a  heinous  offence,  and  he  vowed 
he  would  never  be  covetous  again.  Next  morning, 
haggard  and  weary,  he  passed  Logan's  saloon.  Mr. 
Logan  was  standing  before  the  door,  in  converse  with 
several  of  his  constituents.  One  of  them  was  saying, 
"  Thot's  a  purty  coat  yez  have  on,  Jerry,  but  it's  too 
big  for  yez.  Where  did  ye  git  it  ?  " 

"At  Bergthal's,"  said  Logan,  curtly. 

"  Well,  it's  made  for  a  bigger  man  than  yerself.  Thot 
Sheeny  shtuck  yez." 

It  was  providential  that  Bergthal  overheard  the 
criticism. 

"  Goot-morning,  Mr.  Logan ! "  he  said,  sidling  up 
timidly  to  the  great  politician.  "How  you  vas  this 
morning  ?  Pooty  goot,  eh  ?  Vy,  dot  obergoat  vas  for 
you  two  sizes  too  large  alretty.  I  musht  haf  gave  you 
der  wrong  goat  to  put  on.  No,  sir-ee !  I  vouldn't  let  a 
goat  like  dot  leaf  my  shtore.  Id  vould  der  reputation 


The  Candidate.  165 

of  der  Mammoth  Cloding  Emporium  hurt.  I  got  of 
der  same  goat  a  size  schmaller.  Cum  'round  mit  me 
und  I  gif  you  a  better  fit." 

"Go  along  wid  him,  Jerry/'  said  one  of  his  hench- 
men. "Yez  look  like  a  fence-rail  shtuck  in  a  hogs- 
head. Let  him  give  yez  a  smaller  coat." 

Thus  urged,  the  unsuspecting  Mr.  Logan  turned  his 
steps  into  Cedar  Street,  and  followed  Mr.  Bergthal  into 
his  store. 

"  Now  took  it  off  und  dry  dis  goat  on,"  said  the  mer- 
chant, blandly  and  benevolently. 

Mr.  Logan  took  off  the  garment  and  laid  it  on  the 
table.  Mr.  Bergthal  folded  it  up  and  put  it  back  in 
stock. 

"  Now,  Misther  Logan,"  he  said,  with  sundry  vehe- 
ment gestures,  "  dere  vas  der  door.  You  dink  you  cheat 
me  oud  of  an  obergoat,  ain'd  id  ?  I  guess  not  alretty. 
You  pay  for  id  in  a  mont',  eh  ?  Vot  you  tfink  I  vas, 
Misther  Logan  ?  A  baby  or  a  fool  ?  You're  a  '  ganef/ 
und  der  sooner  you  leaf  der  shtore  der  better.  Go  und 
buy  from  Rosenheim  your  clodings  from  now  on  alretty. 
I  don'd  vant  your  trade." 

Mr.  Logan  was  so  surprised  by  this  unexpected  piece 
of  diplomacy  that  he  stood  speechless  and  motionless. 
After  recovering  his  breath,  he  tried  to  recover  his 
property;  but  Mr.  Bergthal  stood  with  adamantine 
firmness  and  guarded  the  pile  of  overcoats  with  his 
excited  little  body. 

"  You'll  be  sorry  for  this,  you  scoundrel ! "  at  length 
shouted  the  indignant  candidate,  as  he  left  the  store ; 
but  Bergthal  stood  erect  in  conscious  pride  before  his 


166  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

citadel,  with  a  smile  of  triumph  upon  his  expressive 
face. 

If  the  merchant  imagined  that  the  affair  would  be 
thus  easily  settled,  he  was  woefully  mistaken.  Mr. 
Logan  was  a  power  in  the  ward,  and  was  not  the  man 
to  allow  his  heart  to  be  thus  ruthlessly  trampled  upon 
and  his  back  to  be  thus  mercilessly  despoiled  of  its  cov- 
ering. He  planned  a  bitter  revenge.  He  was  politician 
enough  to  realize  that  any  overt  act  against  Bergthal 
would  lose  for  him  the  Jewish  vote,  without  which  his 
chances  of  securing  the  aldermanic  berth  would  be  sensi- 
bly diminished.  No  candidate  subscribes  to  the  doc- 
trine that  "  it  is  better  to  have  run  and  lost  than  never 
to  have  run  at  all."  He  could  take  no  chances.  For- 
tunately, he  had  henchmen  galore  to  do  his  bidding, 
and  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  Jimmy  Lawrence,  a  prize- 
fighter and  much-dreaded  tough,  to  carry  out  the  medi- 
tated retaliation. 

A  few  days  later  Jimmy  Lawrence,  accompanied  by 
a  formidable  bull-pup,  sauntered  down  Cedar  Street, 
with  blood  in  his  eyes  and  war  in  his  heart.  He  had 
formulated  no  definite  plan  of  action,  but  he  relied  on 
chance  to  pick  up  a  quarrel  with  the  clothing  merchant. 
Mr.  Bergthal,  all  unconscious  of  the  impending  danger, 
was  in  his  shop,  striving  to  turn  an  honest  dollar,  and 
in  the  same  operation  to  sell  a  pair  of  trousers  whose 
pristine  glory  had  long  since  succumbed  to  dust  and 
the  actinic  action  of  the  sun.  Mr.  Bergthal  had  a  pet 
collie,  a  great  favorite  with  his  children,  and  this  dog 
usually  lay  in  the  doorway,  and  when  not  asleep 
watched  with  the  fidelity  of  Cerberus  the  wire  forms, 


The  Candidate.  167 

artistically  draped  with  garments  and  signs,  that  stood 
upon  the  sidewalk.  The  dog,  whose  Jewish  name  was 
Califf,  lay  in  his  accustomed  spot  across  the  threshold, 
basking  in  the  sun,  when  Jimmy  and  his  snarling  com- 
panion sauntered  upon  the  scene.  "  Sic  him  !"  cried 
the  prize-fighter ;  and  in  a  second  the  pup  had  Califf 
by  the  neck,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  canine  howls 
and  imprecations.  Bergthal  and  his  customer  both  ran 
to  the  door,  the  former  in  anticipation  of  trouble  and 
the  latter  of  sport.  Both  had  their  anticipations  ful- 
filled. Poor  Califf,  bred  to  a  life  of  inactivity  and 
ease,  was  like  a  rat  in  the  fierce  jaws  of  the  pup,  and 
squealed  with  almost  human  persistence. 

Thoroughly  oblivious  of  personal  danger,  realizing 
only  that  his  pet's  career  was  in  danger  of  abbreviation, 
Bergthal  rashly  threw  himself  into  the  mel^e,  and  en- 
deavored to  separate  the  combatants. 

"  Leave  my  dog  alone,  will  yez  ? "  shouted  Jimmy, 
the  tough,  from  the  curb. 

"  Veil,  den,  call  him  quick  avay  from  my  tog  ! "  And 
Bergthal  seized  the  pup  by  a  leg  in  a  vain  endeavor 
to  drag  him  off". 

Here  Jimmy  took  a  hand  in  the  battle,  and  grasp- 
ing the  clothing  merchant  by  the  coat  collar,  proceeded 
to  belabor  him  with  his  brawny  fists.  Bergthal  was  no 
match  for  the  professional  pugilist,  and  he  made  up  in 
lusty  calls  for  assistance  what  he  lacked  in  prowess.  In 
an  instant  that  particular  locality  on  Cedar  Street  was 
alive  with  interested  spectators.  Mrs.  Bergthal,  who 
lived  over  the  Emporium  of  Fashion,  was  attracted  by 
the  noise,  and  running  to  the  door  of  the  store,  stood 


168  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

for  a  moment  in  deep  despair,  crying,  "Oh,  woe  is  me ! 
My  husband  !  They  will  murder  him  I"  Then,  seeing 
that  the  situation  was  becoming  critical,  she  ceased  her 
wailing,  and,  like  Kizpah  protecting  her  darlings  from 
the  eagles'  ravages,  she  attacked  Jimmy  from  the  rear, 
beating  him  with  a  convenient  coat-hanger.  The  ex- 
citement became  indescribable.  The  street  was  divided 
between  two  rival  camps,  Celtic  and  Semitic,  and  their 
slogans,  in  their  respective  brogues,  were  awe-inspiring. 

Mr.  Ehrlich,  whose  place  of  business  was  near  by, 
was  startled  by  the  din  of  battle,  and  rushed  to  the 
scene.  With  the  instincts  of  a  peacemaker,  he  tried  to 
separate  the  combatants,  and  was  severely  bruised  for 
his  pains. 

When  a  policeman  finally  appeared,  his  argus  eye 
took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and,  with  rare  im- 
partiality and  commendable  perspicuity,  he  promptly 
arrested  both  Jimmy  Lawrence  and  Jacob  Bergthal  for 
disturbing  the  peace.  Followed  by  an  enthusiastic 
crowd,  the  combatants  were  led  into  the  august  presence 
of  Magistrate  Flaherty,  who,  being  a  friend  of  the 
pugilist,  dismissed  him  on  his  own  recognizance,  and 
held  the  merchant,  in  default  of  five  hundred  dollars 
bail,  for  trial. 

That  evening  Mr.  Lawrence  and  Mr.  Logan  were  in 
the  best  of  spirits,  and  the  best  of  spirits  were  in  them. 
Mr.  Logan  had  obtained  his  revenge  without  prejudicing 
his  chances  of  election  by  a  loss  of  the  Hebrew  vote. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE      NEW      CEEED. 

"  Must  I  consume  my  life,  this  little  life, 
In  guarding  against  all  may  make  it  less  ? 
It  is  not  worth  so  much.    It  were  to  die 
Before  my  hour,  to  live  in  dread  of  death." 

— Byron. 

ISAAC  returned  home  from  the  priest's  with  a  smile 
of  contentment  upon  his  lips ;  but  on  his  arrival  at  the 
house  his  happiness  was  rudely  dispelled.  A  disagree- 
able surprise  awaited  him. 

"My  dear,"  said  Lena,  kissing  him  as  he  entered. 
"  You  have  had  a  strange  visitor.  Who  do  you  think 
was  here  ?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?    Who  was  it  ?" 

"  Mr.  Burrow,  the  sergeant  of  police." 

Isaac's  face  became  deathly  pale,  and  he  leaned  against 
the  wall  for  support. 

"  What  did  he  want  ?"  he  gasped. 

"  I  don't  know.  He  wouldn't  tell  me  his  business, 
but  he  seemed  anxious  to  see  you.  When  I  told  him 
you  were  out,  he  said  he  would  call  after  dinner." 

"  Was  that  all  he  said  ?"  asked  Isaac,  nervously. 

"Yes —  No ;  he  said  I  should  be  sure  to  keep  you 
home  until  he  came,  as  he  must  see  you  without  fail." 

169 


170  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Good  God  !  Then  it  had  come  at  last — the  dreaded 
exposure.  He  could  no  longer  doubt  it.  The  police 
were  in  possession  of  his  secret  and  had  come  to  arrest 
him.  Isaac  staggered  into  his  parlor  and  sank  into  a 
chair,  trembling  with  fear. 

"Dear  me!"  cried  Lena,  "you  look  so  pale.  What 
is  the  matter  ?" 

"  It  is  nothing,  Lena ;  only  my  old  sickness.  I  can- 
not stand  excitement.  Tell  me,  did  not  Mr.  Burrow 
say  why  he  wanted  to  see  me  ?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Have  you  no  idea  what  he  wanted  ?" 

"None  whatever.  He  seemed  disturbed  and  in  a 
hurry." 

"  Disturbed  and  in  a  hurry,"  murmured  Isaac. 

Beyond  a  doubt  he  had  come  to  arrest  the  murderer. 
The  poor  man  groped  his  way  up  to  his  room,  holding 
on  to  the  railing  for  fear  of  stumbling.  He  locked  the 
door,  for  he  wanted  to  be  alone  with  his  grief.  Throw- 
ing himself  upon  his  bed,  he  sobbed  as  if  his  heart 
would  break. 

"  At  last,"  he  murmured,  "  they  have  found  me  out. 
All  my  charity  and  all  my  endeavors  to  atone  for  my 
crime  have  been  unavailing  and  will  count  as  naught. 
They  will  tear  me  from  my  family  and  from  my  home, 
and  lock  me  up  in  their  prison  until  the  day  of  execu- 
tion. Not  that,  my  God,  not  that !"  he  prayed.  "  Oh, 
have  I  not  been  punished  enough?  Must  my  family  and 
my  friends  be  punished  with  me  ?  Oh,  that  there  was  a 
city  of  refuge  to  which  to  flee  !  My  God,  thou  knowest 
I  am  no  murderer — that  it  was  done  in  self-defence !" 


The  New  Creed.  171 

After  a  while  he  became  calmer  and  sat  down  in  a 
rocking  chair,  gazing  vacantly  into  space. 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  mistake,  after  all/'  he  muttered,  "and 
the  police  sergeant  wanted  me  for  something  else.  No, 
that  is  not  likely.  There  can  be  but  one  solution  to  the 
question.  I  am  to  be  arrested." 

Isaac  had  reached  a  mental  state  when  everything 
even  remotely  connected  with  his  crime  assumed  an 
unnatural  aspect  of  importance.  He  saw  every  occur- 
rence exaggerated  through  a  medium  of  excitement  and 
terror.  He  was  in  a  constant  state  of  delirium,  brought 
about  through  his  fear  of  confession  and  dread  of  detec- 
tion. The  most  insignificant  event  threw  him  into  a 
state  of  mental  unbalan  cement,  during  which  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  reflect  intelligently. 

The  perspiration  stood  upon  his  forehead  as  he  thought 
of  the  months  of  imprisonment,  the  long  trial,  the  proba- 
ble hanging.  His  memory  became  confused,  his  ideas 
distorted.  At  the  thought  of  an  execution  he  sprang 
up  and  paced  the  room  in  feverish  haste.  He  dug  his 
finger-nails  deep  into  his  palms,  but  he  felt  them  not. 
The  hanging  !  It  would  kill  Lena ;  she  would  not  sur- 
vive it. 

"  No,  no,"  he  cried,  in  despair,  "  they  dare  not  hang 
me !  It  was  done  in  self-defence.  It  was  not  pre- 
meditated murder." 

Yet  what  proof  had  he  ?  Who  would  believe  him  ? 
A  thought  of  flight  suggested  itself.  He  might  evade 
the  police  and  escape.  Whither  ?  Wherever  he  went 
they  could  bring  him  back,  and  his  evasion  would  only 
be  construed  as  an  evidence  of  guilt.  Besides,  he  could 


172  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

not  take  Lena  and  the  children  with  him,  and  he  would 
not  desert  them.  What  if  he  called  Lena  and  told  her 
all,  confessed  his  crime  and  implored  her  forgiveness  ? 
It  would  be  better  than  if  she  heard  the  story  from 
the  police.  Yes,  he  would  do  it.  He  felt  he  should 
have  done  it  long  ago.  He  went  to  the  door  to  call  his 
wife. 

"  Lena  !"  The  name  stuck  in  his  throat.  He  called 
again,  but  his  hoarse  voice  was  scarcely  audible.  No, 
he  dared  not  tell  her.  Time  enough  when  she  found  it 
out.  He  staggered  back  into  the  room  and  fell  into  his 
chair,  pale,  irresolute. 

An  hour  passed — an  hour  of  intense  anguish,  of  ter- 
rible suspense.  Oh,  if  he  could  but  die  and  be  through 
with  it  all !  His  wife  came  up  to  call  him  for  dinner, 
and  found  him  sitting  with  his  chin  in  his  hands,  staring 
dejectedly  before  him. 

"  Come,  Isaac,  dinner  is  ready." 

"  I  cannot  eat.     I  am  not  well.     Leave  me  alone." 

"  No,  my  dear.  You  must  eat.  A  nourishing  dinner 
will  do  you  good.  We  have  your  favorite  dish  to-day." 

He  went  down  to  please  her,  but  could  eat  nothing. 
His  wife  was  greatly  worried,  but  kept  her  peace.  She 
was  growing  accustomed  to  his  vagaries,  but  not  recon- 
ciled to  them.  Another  hour  of  suspense  ensued,  until 
two  o'clock  struck,  when  the  door-bell  rang  and  the 
sergeant  of  police  entered.  Isaac  went  into  the  hall  to 
meet  him. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Schwartz  ?"  asked  the  man  in 
uniform.  "  I  want  you  to  do  me  the  favor  to  go  to  the 
county  prison  with  me  ?" 


The  New  Creed.  173 

Isaac's  eyes  bulged  from  their  sockets.  There  was 
no  more  doubt  of  his  exposure. 

"  For  what?"  he  managed  to  whisper,  in  a  terrified  voice. 

"  Great  heavens,  man,  don't  look  so  frightened  !  I 
don't  intend  to  keep  you  there,"  said  the  official. 
"The  case  is  just  this.  Mr.  Bergthal,  the  clothing 
merchant,  has  been  arrested  for  disturbing  the  peace 
and  wants  you  to  go  on  his  bail.  Hurry,  for  the  poor 
fellow  is  growing  impatient.  He  fears  Mr.  Rosenheim 
will  get  his  trade  while  he  is  locked  up." 

Isaac  clutched  the  wall  to  keep  from  falling.  What 
a  terrible  mistake !  They  had  not  discovered  his  crime. 
Thank  God,  thank  God  !  He  actually  wept  for  joy. 

"Will  you  go  with  me?"  asked  the  sergeant,  sur- 
prised at  such  emotion. 

"  Of  course  I  will ;  at  once.     I  will  get  my  hat." 

In  the  excess  of  his  agitation  Isaac  fell  into  a  chair, 
and  it  was  several  minutes  before  he  found  strength  to 
walk. 

He  went  willingly  to  the  jail  with  the  sergeant  and 
entered  bail  for  Bergthal,  who  was  profuse  in  his 
thanks  and  explanations. 

"  I  vas  sorry  to  drouble  you,  Mr.  Schwartz,"  cried 
Bergthal,  effusively,  "aber  dere  vasn't  nobody  I  couldn't 
sent  to  for  bail.  My  friends  don'd  own  no  real  estate, 
except  Eosenheim,  uud  he  ain'd  no  friend  of  mine. 
Haf  you  heard  how  id  vas  ?  Dot  rascal,  Jimmy  Law- 
rence, cums  arount  mit  his  dog,  vich  grab  my  dog,  und 
den  he  goes  for  me  ven  I  go  for  his  dog.  It's  nodding 
but  'rishus'  (prejudice).  I  vill  haf  de  law  on  dot  tough, 
if  it  costed  me  my  last  cent." 


174  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Bergthal  again  expressed  his  gratitude  and  hastened 
back  to  the  Mammoth  Clothing  Emporium,  where  he 
found  his  wife  bathed  in  tears  and  mourning  for  him  as 
though  he  were  irretrievably  lost,  while  Emma  was 
using  all  her  eloquence  to  comfort  her  bereaved  parent. 

Isaac  shuddered  as  he  passed  through  the  dingy 
prison.  The  cells,  with  their  iron  gratings,  seemed  to 
beckon  him  in,  and  he  glanced  furtively  into  the  inte- 
rior. How  long  would  it  be  before  he  was  called  upon 
to  inhabit  just  such  a  cell  ?  For  the  moment  the  danger 
was  averted,  but  it  was  sure  to  come.  Nemesis  would 
overtake  him,  and  one  of  these  very  cells,  with  its  bare 
walls  and  carpetless  floors,  its  gloomy  air  and  musty 
smell,  would  be  his  last  abode  this  side  of  the  grave.  A 
chill  seized  him  at  the  thought,  and  he  tottered  like  a 
drunken  man.  He  glanced  at  the  iron  doors  and  massive 
locks.  They  were  impregnable.  Once  behind  them 
there  was  no  escape. 

He  heard  the  muffled  step  of  a  man  pacing  up  and 
down  his  narrow  dungeon. 

"  That,"  said  his  guide,  "  is  Frascatti,  the  murderer. 
He  will  be  executed  next  week." 

"  Is  there  no  hope  for  him  ? "  whispered  Isaac. 

"  None.  He  does  not  deserve  any  pity.  He  killed 
a  fellow-countryman  in  cold  blood  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
dollars.  Hanging  is  too  good  for  him." 

Isaac's  head  swam,  as  the  sergeant  calmly  spoke  of 
the  condemned  man.  Before  long  this  same  officer 
might  be  telling  a  casual  visitor : 

"  There  is  the  cell  of  Schwartz,  the  Jew,  who  killed 
his  partner  for  a  bag  of  gold." 


The  New  Creed.  175 

Yes,  he  would  add  the  word  "  Jew  "  in  speaking  of 
him.  They  always  did  that,  and  the  whole  family  of 
Israel  would  be  made  to  feel  the  disgrace. 

Isaac  tore  himself  from  the  frightful  place,  and  turned 
his  steps  homeward.  Never  had  the  world  appeared  so 
sad  and  tearful.  When  he  arrived  home,  a  fever  was 
raging  within  him.  Lena  would  have  sent  for  a  physi- 
cian, but  he  forbade  it. 

Next  morning  he  felt  better,  but  the  recollection  of 
that  day  of  suspense  remained  with  him  for  weeks. 

Schwartz's  visits  to  Father  Kelly  became  frequent. 
There  were  numerous  arrangements  and  specifications  to 
be  discussed,  and  as  the  conscientious  priest  refused  to 
act  entirely  upon  his  own  responsibility,  the  Jew  and 
the  Catholic  were  often  thrown  into  each  other's  society. 
Schwartz  retained  few  of  the  Jewish  mannerisms  which 
distinguished  him  when  we  first  made  his  acquaintance. 
Contact  with  intelligent  people,  and  the  influence  of  his 
varied  surroundings,  had  smoothed  those  little  asperities 
of  manner  by  which  one  invariably  recognizes  a  for- 
eigner, and  Isaac  had  become  thoroughly  Americanized 
both  in  speech  and  manner. 

The  priest  took  delight  in  his  visits,  for  he  began  to 
recognize  in  the  philanthropist  a  keen  intellect  and  a 
ready  tongue.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  after 
their  monetary  discussions  were  at  an  end,  they  should 
drift  into  a  discussion  of  business  and  politics,  and  finally 
of  their  respective  religions;  and  to  Isaac's  agitated 
mind  such  conversations  were  welcome.  They  diverted 
his  thoughts  from  their  sombre  channels. 

The  Catholic  religion  had  hitherto  been  a  sealed  book 


176  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

to  Isaac.  At  his  father's  house  it  was  never  discussed, 
and  he  himself  had  neither  the  time  nor  inclination  to 
investigate  the  mysteries  of  any  religion  but  his  own. 
Beyond  the  barest  outlines,  therefore,  he  knew  nothing 
about  the  doctrines  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  He  list- 
ened with  interest  bordering  on  amusement  to  the  ideas 
which  the  priest  unfolded,  and  mentally  compared  them 
with  the  theology  to  which  he  had  so  long  been  accus- 
tomed. 

"  I  see  you  smile,"  said  Father  Kelly,  one  day  after  a 
somewhat  lengthy  elucidation.  "  May  I  ask  why  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  my  seeming  levity,  but  your 
doctrine  is  so  strange  that  I  scarcely  know  whether  you 
are  in  earnest  or  not.  We  Jews  expected  a  Redeemer, 
it  is  true,  but  he  was  to  be  a  scion  of  the  house  of 
David,  a  valiant  and  warlike  man,  who  would  save 
Israel  from  persecution  and  re-establish  a  nation  of 
Jews.  You  surely  cannot  blame  us  for  denying  your 
Saviour,  for  he  does  not  possess  one  of  these  require- 
ments." 

"  You  forget,"  answered  the  priest,  gently ;  "  our  Re- 
deemer comes  from  the  house  of  David." 

"  Not  according  to  your  statement,  unless  Joseph  was 
his  father,  in  which  case  his  birth  was  natural.  But 
apart  from  his  pedigree,  in  what  way  can  you  demon- 
strate his  genuineness  as  a  saviour  of  the  Jews  ?  Has 
the  persecution  of  the  Jews  ceased  ?  Have  peace  and 
good  will  become  general  ?  Has  the  kingdom  of  Israel 
been  re-established  by  his  prowess  or  courage  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  priest,  full  of  apostolic  inspira- 
tion, and  speaking  as  though  he  were  in  the  pulpit. 


The  New  Creed.  177 

"  Christ  came,  not  to  restore  an  earthly  kingdom,  but  to 
proclaim  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  He  has  not  redeemed 
us  from  the  tyranny  of  conquering  nations,  but  from 
the  tyranny  of  sin.  He  has  taken  the  sins  of  mankind 
upon  his  shoulders  and  opened  the  path  to  eternal  life." 

After  a  lengthy  conversation  on  kindred  topics,  Isaac 
left  the  priest,  in  some  mental  perturbation. 

"  I  scarcely  know  whether  the  Jews  should  feel  hon- 
ored or  the  reverse,"  he  mused.  "  To  think  that  one 
of  our  race,  a  meek  preacher  of  whom  thousands  of 
Hebrews  living  at  that  time  never  heard,  should  be 
raised  to  the  dignity  of  a  God !  Indeed,  to  my  mind 
the  story  rivals  in  strangeness  the  most  fanciful  Kabal- 
ism  of  our  time-honored  Rabbis.  And  yet  this  doc- 
trine, strange  as  it  appears  to  me,  must  have  some 
great  inherent  merit,  else  it  would  not  attract  and  hold 
such  great  numbers  of  adherents.  How  strange  and 
incomprehensible  it  appears  by  the  side  of  our  beautiful 
and  soul-inspiring  belief  in  an  only  God  !" 

After  Isaac  had  taken  his  departure,  the  priest  walked 
slowly  up  and  down  his  room,  a  smile  of  beatitude  play- 
ing about  his  finely-chiseled  lips.  He  had  been  inspired 
by  an  idea  whose  boldness  startled  him,  while  it  filled 
his  soul  with  delight. 

"  Who  knows,"  he  mused,  "  whether  God;  in  his  infi- 
nite wisdom,  has  not  led  this  Jew  to  me,  that  I  may 
point  out  to  him  the  path  of  salvation  ?  Our  doctrines 
are  new  to  him,  but  he  did  not  disparage  nor  condemn 
them.  He  appeared  to  take  a  strange  interest  in  all  I 
said.  Oh,  if  I  could  but  say  to  him,  '  Brother,  believe 
in  Christ !  Abandon  your  ancient  ceremonials  and  your 
12 


178  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

antiquated  ideas,  which  lead  but  to  perdition,  and  seek 
salvation  in  the  crucified  Saviour ! '  Oh,  that  God 
would  vouchsafe  to  me  the  triumph  of  having  saved 
one  perishing  soul  from  the  fires  of  hell !  I  shall  sow 
the  seed.  God  grant  that  it  may  fall  on  fertile  ground  ! " 

,Several  days  elapsed  before  the  Jew  and  the  priest 
again  met.  Isaac  called  in  reference  to  a  donation  to  a 
Catholic  seminary,  and  found  a  hearty  welcome  await- 
ing him.  The  priest  was  eager  to  resume  the  discussion, 
and  Isaac,  who  had  meditated  long  and  earnestly,  was 
not  averse  to  taking  up  the  conversation,  with  a  view 
of  adding  to  his  knowledge  of  the  subject.  He  had,  in 
fact,  come  armed  with  a  long  list  of  questions  concern- 
ing Catholicism,  which  the  priest  was  but  too  happy  to 
answer. 

The  good  priest  was  in  his  element.  He  descanted 
long  and  earnestly  upon  his  conception  of  God's  love 
for  man.  He  related  in  his  own  eloquent  manner  the 
story  of  the  birth,  life  and  death  of  Jesus.  He  dwelt 
with  loving  fervor  upon  each  incident,  and  when  he 
told  how  the  Son  of  God  perished  that  mankind  could 
enjoy  eternal  life,  his  face  lit  up  with  an  expression  of 
radiant  joy. 

Isaac  listened  attentively.  His  attitude  was  respect- 
ful and  deferential,  but  he  could  not  repress  an  occa- 
sional smile  as  the  novelty  of  the  doctrine  was  unfolded 
to  him.  While  the  priest  discoursed,  his  mind  reverted 
to  Sweeny.  He,  too,  had  been  a  Catholic,  in  name,  if 
not  in  fact.  The  spectre  of  the  murdered  man  stood 
again  at  his  side,  darkening  his  soul  with  its  persistent 
accusations.  How  he  longed  to  exorcise  the  spirit 


The  New  Creed.  179 

which  tormented  him!  Suddenly  he  interrupted  the 
priest,  and  asked,  nervously  : 

"  Suppose,  your  reverence,  that  a  man  had  committed 
a  crime.  Let  us  take,  for  example,  the  worst  in  the 
catalogue  of  evil — murder.  His  conscience  is  bound 
down  by  the  weight  of  grief  and  remorse.  He  is  in 
constant  danger  of  detection  and  punishment.  He  can 
find  no  peace,  no  rest — nothing  but  the  ceaseless  accusa- 
tion of  a  guilty  conscience.  "What  comfort  has  your 
religion  for  such  an  unfortunate  being  ?" 

"We  have  nothing  to  do  with  punishment  inflicted 
by  law;  but,  oh,  the  blessed  relief  of  knowing  that 
your  soul  is  saved — of  knowing  that  your  crime  has 
been  morally  washed  out — that  God's  mercy  and  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  are  open  to  you  without  a  doubt ! " 

"  And  how  can  a  sinner  obtain  this  salvation  ?  " 

"  By  faith  in  Him,  the  Son  of  God." 

"  Let  us  suppose,  for  the  sake  of  argument  only,  that 
I  am  such  a  remorseful  sinner — I,  a  Jew.  What  would 
be  the  requisites  of  my  salvation?" 

"The  first  is  baptism,"  replied  the  priest,  scarcely 
able  to  conceal  his  satisfaction  at  the  turn  the  conversa- 
tion had  taken.  "  Baptism  by  itself  will  lift  you  into 
moral  perfection ;  and  faith  in  Christ  will  relieve  your 
conscience  of  its  weight  of  sorrow,  and  release  your 
soul  from  its  guilt." 

"  Then  the  penitent  thief,  impostor,  assassin  need  but 
faith  to  purify  them  ?  " 

"Cast  your  sin  upon  the  Son  of  God,  and  he  will 
bear  the  burden ;  he  will  forgive." 

"Comfortable  belief,"  replied  Isaac,  after  a  pause. 


180  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"We  poor  Jews  have  been  for  centuries  bearing  our 
own  guilt,  believing  that  each  man  is  held  accountable 
to  God  for  his  own  misdeeds,  and  never  dreaming  that 
by  means  of  faith  in  one  of  our  own  race  we  might 
have  lived  lives  of  moral  ease." 

Father  Kelly  thought  he  detected  a  slight  trace  of 
sarcasm  in  Isaac's  voice  as  he  spoke.  At  length  the 
Jew  arose  to  take  his  leave. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Schwartz,"  said  the  priest,  shaking  him 
by  the  hand,  "  this  has  been  a  delightful  hour  to  me ! 
To  converse  about  my  dear  Saviour,  to  open  the  eyes  of 
the  erring  to  the  beauties  of  my  religion,  is  the  greatest 
privilege  I  can  conceive  of." 

"  Christ  has  a  noble  champion  in  you,  Father  Kelly." 

"  I  am  but  an  humble  toiler  in  the  vineyard  of  the 
Lord.  You  will  come  again,  Mr.  Schwartz,  will  you 
not?" 

"  Certainly ;  our  charity  work  is  not  yet  at  an  end." 

"  I  believe  that  he  is  half  converted,"  said  Father 
Kelly,  when  his  guest  had  departed.  "Oh,  what  a 
triumph  it  would  be  for  our  blessed  church  if  we  could 
rescue  this  soul  from  the  kingdom  of  Satan  ! " 

Had  the  priest  been  able  to  read  Isaac's  thoughts,  as 
he  wandered  homeward,  he  would  have  been  less  san- 
guine as  to  the  results  of  his  ambitious  plans. 

Schwartz's  donations  to  Catholic  institutions  attracted 
wide  attention.  His  philanthropy  was  proclaimed  in 
every  church.  Such  bounty  on  the  part  of  an  Israelite 
towards  other  creeds  was  unheard  of,  and  Father  Kelly 
incorporated  in  his  service  a  special  prayer  of  grace  for 
the  benefactor,  and  an  ardent  request  to  the  Son  of  God 


The  New  Creed.  181 

to  soften  the  heart  of  the  unbelieving  Jew,  and  lead  hiui 
into  the  path  of  salvation. 

For  a  time  Isaac  felt  a  contentment  which  had  long 
been  a  stranger  to  him.  He  argued  that  the  spirit  of 
Sweeny  might  now  rest  in  peace,  as  more  good  was 
being  accomplished  with  his  gold  than  if  he  had  dis- 
posed of  it  himself.  In  the  latter  case  it  would 
probably  have  found  its  way  into  the  rum  shop. 
Now  it  was  feeding  the  widow  and  the  orphan.  It 
might,  after  all,  be  a  blessing  to  humanity  to  have 
Sweeny  out  of  the  way.  He  had  been  a  worthless 
specimen  of  humanity.  Who  knows  how  soon  he  might 
have  committed  another  murder  and  been  hung  for  it? 
This  manner  of  reasoning  and  this  feeling  of  satisfac- 
tion were,  however,  of  short  duration.  They  were  arti- 
ficial and  could  not  endure.  During  his  moments 
of  calm  reflection  Schwartz  felt  that,  do  what  he 
would,  his  guilt  was  not  thereby  diminished.  He 
had  in  no  wise  expiated  his  crime,  and  he  realized 
more  than  ever  that  there  could  be  no  atonement  until 
he  had  paid  the  penalty  according  to  law. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   MIRACLE   OF   THE   LAMP. 

"  Oh,  that  a  dream  so  sweet,  so  long  enjoyed, 
Should  be  so  sadly,  cruelly  destroyed !" — Moore. 

MICHAEL  LAZINSKY,  the  first  Pole  who  settled  in 

B ,  was  dead.  The  wintry  blasts  of  America  had 

proved  fatal  to  his  lungs,  weakened  by  the  miasma  of 
his  Polish  Ghetto,  and  consumption  had  carried  him  off 
just  as  he  was  becoming  accustomed  to  the  peculiarities 
of  American  civilization.  He  had  been  a  Talmud 
student  in  the  old  country ;  a  peddler  and  a  schnorrer 
in  the  new ;  but  outside  of  his  immediate  family  circle 
his  death  left  no  great  gap,  nor  evoked  any  violent  grief. 

His  widow,  Simcha  Lazinsky,  sat  "  shiva "  during 
the  prescribed  seven  days,  wailed  against  fate  in  her 
choicest  jargon,  and  then  set  out  with  grim  determina- 
tion to  earn  a  living  for  her  four  children.  Such  chil- 
dren !  Jankerle,  her  eldest,  was  nearly  ten ;  but  already 
he  had  whipped  a  boy  who  lived  in  the  same  tenement, 
and  who  was  two  years  older.  He  was  a  linguist, 
too,  of  no  mean  ability,  speaking  jargon  and  Billings- 
gate with  equal  facility,  to  say  nothing  of  the  passages 
of  Torah  which  his  father  "  selig  "  had  taught  him,  and 
which  he  repeated,  parrot-like,  in  pure  Hebrew.  Minka, 
Pesach  and  Beilche,  though  younger,  were  no  less  a 

182 


The  Miracle  of  the  Lamp.  183 

comfort  to  their  mother  in  her  affliction,  and  promised 
to  be  a  great  help  to  her  after  they  had  grown  up. 
Michael  Lazinsky  had  been  sick  and  unable  to  earn 
anything  for  some  time  before  his  demise,  and,  in  his 
helplessness,  had  relied  entirely  upon  Isaac  Schwartz's 
generosity  for  support.  Three  months'  rent  remained 
unpaid,  and  Simcha  was  politely  but  inexorably  invited 
to  move. 

"  Oh,  woe  is  me  !"  she  groaned,  in  jargon.  "  What 
will  I  and  the  '  kinder '  do  ?" 

The  landlord  understood  neither  Yiddish  nor  sym- 
pathy, and  the  widow's  belongings  were  unceremoniously 
huddled  into  the  street.  Here  sat  Simcha,  like  a  true 
daughter  of  Zion,  surrounded  by  her  children,  weeping 
and  refusing  to  be  comforted. 

The  Hebrew  Relief  Association,  being  taxed  to  its 
utmost,  refused  to  assist  the  widow,  and  again  Isaac 
Schwartz,  the  patron  and  protector  of  all  poor  Jews, 
was  appealed  to.  He  paid  for  Michael's  funeral  and 
installed  the  widow  and  her  brood  in  a  four-roomed 
house  in  a  court  off  of  Oak  Street,  not  far  from  where 
he  had  once  faced  poverty.  She  recovered  her  spirits 
when  she  was  comfortably  settled,  and  heaped  plen- 
teous blessings  upon  the  head  of  her  benefactor.  It 
was  a  poor  dwelling,  amid  poor  surroundings,  but  had 
Michael  only  been  alive  to  enjoy  it,  the  place  would 
have  been  metamorphosed  into  a  palace. 

Mrs.  Mulcahey,  who  lived  next  door,  paid  Mrs.  Lazinsky 
a  social  call  during  the  first  afternoon  of  her  occupancy. 

"  Good  day  to  yez,"  she  said.  "  I  do  be  hopin'  we'll 
be  good  uayburs." 


184  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Was  sagt  sie  ?"  queried  Simcha,  in  Yiddish,  turn- 
ing to  Jankerle,  the  linguist. 

"  Sie,  sagt,  sie  hofft  as  mihr  werden  sein  gute  fraind," 
interpreted  the  boy. 

"  Asoy  !     Sie  soil  haben  a  gut  jahr  !" 

"  What's  that  she  do  be  after  sayin'  ?"  queried  Mrs. 
Mulcahey. 

Jankerle  translated  somewhat  freely,  and  good  will 
was  at  once  established.  Mrs.  Mulcahey  was  loqua- 
cious. 

"  I  hear  yez  be  a  widder.  Och,  shure  an'  its  harrud 
to  lose  one's  ould  man  in  the  middle  of  the  winter !  Me 
own  husband,  Tim,  died  this  Christmas  comin'  three 
years  ago,  and  divil  a  one  have  I  found  loike  him  since. 
Och,  sorra  the  day  !" 

Here  Mrs.  Mulcahey  furtively  wiped  away  a  tear. 

"Was  sagt  sie?"  asked  Mrs.  Lazinsky.  "Warum 
thut  sie  ( bechiess '  (why  is  she  crying)  ?" 

Jankerle  explained  in  a  few  words,  and  soon  the  two 
widows  were  mingling  tears  and  groaning  in  their 
respective  idioms,  after  which  the  visitor  left. 

Next  day  Simcha  started  out  with  a  large  basket, 
filled  with  a  generous  stock  of  pins,  soap,  shoe-laces  and 
kindred  wares,  all  supplied  by  her  friend  and  protector, 
Isaac  Schwartz,  and  began  to  peddle  her  wares  along 
Cedar  Street. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  that  night  was  the  eve  of 
rt  Hannukah,"  a  few  gross  of  wax  candles  were  added  to 
her  stock.  These  were  choice  sellers.  Not  only  did  the 
people  buy  them  for  Hannukah  lights,  but  for  Christmas 
trees  as  well,  a  fact  which  did  not  worry  the  pious  Simcha, 


The  Miracle  of  the  Lamp.  185 

so  long  as  she  sold  them.  She  religiously  put  a  dozen  in 
her  pocket,  for  the  gratification  of  her  own  little  ones. 
That  night  she  returned  home  in  a  gay  and  festive 
mood.  She  had  cleared  almost  a  dollar.  Michael 
(peace  to  his  soul !),  after  slaving  all  day,  had  rarely 
earned  as  much.  Jankerle  met  her  at  the  door,  his 
Semitic  face  aglow  with  excitement. 

"  Memmeleben  !  Gick  amol  her  !"  he  shouted.  "Come 
quick  and  look !" 

He  drew  his  mother  to  the  wall  back  of  the  stairs. 
There  was  a  wooden  panel  which  had  once  been  a 
door,  but  which  had  been  nailed  shut,  for  some  in- 
scrutable reason.  On  moving  into  the  house  the 
widow  had  tried  to  open  it,  but  it  had  resisted  her 
efforts.  The  boy,  having  nothing  better  to  do,  had 
spent  an  hour  at  the  task  and  had  succeeded  in  re- 
moving the  nails.  The  panel  stood  open  and  revealed 
a  lamp. 

It  was  not  a  bronze  lamp  with  onyx  base ;  not  a 
lamp  of  Grecian  design  or  Etruscan  finish ;  nothing  but 
a  cheap  glass  lamp,  with  brass  cap  and  penny  wick ; 
but  its  body  was  filled  with  clear,  white  kerosene,  and 
it  brought  as  much  joy  as  though  it  had  been  the  fabled 
lamp  of  Aladdin.  Only  those  who  have  passed  their 
evenings  in  darkness,  relieved  at  the  best  by  a  tallow 
candle,  can  appreciate  the  joy  of  the  Lazinskys  at  the 
prospect  of  light.  The  widow  carefully  examined 
the  enclosure  in  which  the  lamp  had  been  discovered. 
It  was  a  kind  of  closet,  about  three  feet  high  and  nine 
inches  deep.  A  shelf  ran  about  six  inches  from  the 
ground,  and  on  this  stood  the  luminary.  Nothing  else 


186  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

could  be  found  in  the  enclosure.  The  back  was  of 
wood,  and  unyielding. 

Such  an  unexpected  discovery,  on  the  very  eve  of 
the  Hannukah,  was  little  short  of  miraculous.  The 
lamp  was  lit  and  placed  on  the  table,  and  a  "  mi-shab- 
erach  "  (blessing)  said  in  its  honor.  Then  Jankerle  told 
his  younger  brother  and  sisters  of  the  lighting  of  the 
lamp  in  the  temple  in  the  heroic  days  of  the  Maccabees, 
and  the  children  appreciated  the  situation  as  never  before. 
After  the  children  had  gone  to  bed  Simcha  sat  up  to 
read.  The  light  was  there,  and  she  deemed  it  a  good 
deed  to  utilize  it.  When  it  had  burned  out,  the  widow, 
with  respect  born  of  superstition,  replaced  it  in  the 
shrine,  closed  the  panel  and  retired. 

Next  day  the  battle  of  life  recommenced.  The  faith- 
ful mother  trudged  along  with  her  basket,  gratefully 
collecting  the  pence  which  were  given  her  by  the  charita- 
bly inclined  purchasers.  She  returned  tired,  but  joyful. 

When  she  entered  her  dark  dwelling  a  pang  of  regret 
seized  her.  Why  had  she  been  so  prodigal  or  the  oil 
the  day  before?  Now  they  would  have  to  pass  the 
evening  in  darkness.  She  went  longingly  to  the  panel, 
opened  it  and  looked  at  the  lamp. 

Oh,  miracle  of  miracles !  The  lamp  was  filled  with 
oil,  the  wick  trimmed,  and  a  box  of  matches  lay  on  the 
shelf,  invitingly. 

"  Jankerle  !"  she  called.     «  Did  you  fill  the  lamp  ?" 

"  No,  mamma,"  answered  the  boy.  "  I  didn't  even 
look  at  it.  Where  would  I  get  the  money  for  oil  ?" 

"  God  be  blessed,  forever  and  ever !"  muttered  the 
woman,  piously.  "  It  is  miraculous." 


The  Miracle  of  the  Lamp.  187 

What  more  natural  than  that  the  Lord  should  repeat 
one  of  his  miracles  ?  Did  he  not  replenish  the  lamp  in 
the  days  of  Antiochus  ?  Did  he  not  fill  the  widow's 
cruse  in  the  time  of  Elisha  ?  Did  he  not  send  manna 
to  the  famished  Hebrews  ?  Why,  it  was  as  easy  for 
the  Lord  to  do  these  things  as  it  was  to  send  rain. 

But  why  had  he  singled  out  her,  the  poor  widow,  for 
the  honor  of  such  a  miracle  ?  Possibly  Michael  La- 
zinsky  (peace  to  his  soul !)  had  a  hand  in  it,  and  was 
using  his  influence  with  the  Almighty. 

After  supper  Simcha  could  no  longer  restrain  herself. 
The  secret  was  oppressing  her.  Some  one  had  to  share 
it.  Near  by  lived  Levi  Rindskopf,  the  pious  watch- 
maker, who,  having  delved  deeply  in  holy  lore  all  his 
life,  would  be  apt  to  throw  some  light  on  the  mystery. 

She  told  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rindskopf  of  the  miracle. 
They  both  went  to  the  widow's  house,  looked  at  the 
lamp,  blew  it  out,  relit  it  and  tested  it  in  various  ways, 
and  came  to  the  unanimous  conclusion  that  it  was  a 
miracle  indeed. 

Mr.  Rindskopf  had  read  of  similar  wonders  while 
studying  the  mysteries  of  Kabalah. 

"  Do  me  the  favor,"  said  the  widow,  "  and  say  no- 
thing of  this  yet.  Wait  till  to-morrow.  If  the  lamp 
is  again  filled  to-morrow  night,  we  will  notify  Mr. 
Schwartz,  and  the  miracle  shall  be  proclaimed  through- 
out the  world.  Oh,  what  will  the  Gentiles  say? 
"Where  now  are  their  miracles  ?" 

Rindskopf  promised.  They  remained  until  ten 
o'clock,  and  as  the  oil  burned  low  they  departed. 

The  widow  replaced  the  lamp  in  its  shrine.     To  pre- 


188  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

vent  any  interference  with  divine  work,  and  to  mini- 
mize any  cheating  by  profane  hands,  Simcha  drove  a 
nail  into  the  panel  before  she  went  away  next  morning. 

She  could  hardly  await  the  coming  of  evening.  It 
was  the  day  before  Christmas,  and  money  fairly  poured 
in  on  her.  Surely  the  Lord  had  singled  her  out  for 
great  things. 

At  length  she  returned  to  the  court.  Before  her  door, 
and  in  her  room,  was  a  vast  concourse  of  people. 
Rindskopf 's  wife  had  kept  her  secret  as  long  as  possible, 
and  then,  woman-like,  told  a  few  of  her  friends  of  the 
wonder.  The  news  spread  like  fire.  The  crowd  before 
the  court  was  increasing.  The  whole  congregation  ap- 
peared eager  to  view  the  lamp.  Simcha  Lazinsky  ex- 
perienced the  proudest  moment  of  her  life.  Never 
before  had  so  many  people  desired  her  presence. 

She  greeted  her  friends  cordially,  albeit  with  an  air 
of  superiority,  as  one  befitting  the  special  prot6g6  of  the 
Lord.  Before  opening  the  panel,  she  dutifully  sent 
Jankerle  to  inform  Mr.  Schwartz,  for  he  of  all  men 
ought  to  be  cognizant  of  the  strange  facts.  He  had 
already  heard  rumors  of  the  miracle,  and  was  on  his 
way  to  the  court.  On  the  road  he  met  the  Rabbi,  bent 
on  the  same  errand.  Mrs.  Lazinsky  received  them  as  a 
queen  would  her  ministers.  She  was  sitting  on  a  broken 
wooden  chair,  surrounded  by  a  vast  and  impatient  multi- 
tude. Arising,  she  took  the  poker,  and,  going  to  the 
panel,  wrenched  it  open. 

"  Shema  Beni !"  The  exclamation  burst  from  a 
dozen  throats.  There  stood  the  lamp  refilled,  radiant 
in  its  beauty ;  but  this  was  not  all.  On  the  shelf  on 


The  Miracle  of  the  Lamp.  189 

either  side  of  it  were  dishes  of  fruit,  nuts,  raisins  and 
cakes — a  veritable  feast  of  Lucullus  ! 

In  the  presence  of  such  a  miracle,  only  one  man 
preserved  his  presence  of  mind,  and  that  was  Rinds- 
kopf,  a  man,  as  we  know,  of  great  resources.  He 
at  once  began  to  chant  a  blessing,  and  a  holy  awe  took 
possession  of  the  assembled  people.  Suddenly  the  back 
wall  of  the  closet  disappeared,  disclosing  the  room  in 
the  adjoining  house,  and  Mrs.  Mulcahey's  head  appeared 
in  the  aperture. 

"  Och,  yez  thievin'  haythens  !  Yez  contimptible 
Jews  !  To  rob  a  poor  widder  like  meself.  Begorra,  I 
imagined  it  was  ye  that  was  burnin'  me  ile,  an'  me  away 
nursin'  a  sick  sister ;  and  now  yez  do  be  afther  stealin' 
me  Christmas  dinner  !  Bad  cess  to  yez !  Oi'll  have 
the  law  on  yez,  that  Oi  will !" 

"  Was  sagt  sie  ?"  groaned  Mrs.  Lazinsky,  amazed  at 
the  apparition. 

"  Never  mind  what  she  said,"  replied  Mr.  Schwartz, 
with  a  hearty  laugh,  in  which  all  but  Mrs.  Lazinsky 
and  Mrs.  Mulcahey  joined.  "  I'm  afraid  the  days  of 
miracles  are  past.  Let  us  go  home." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE. 

"  Affection  is  a  coal  that  must  be  cooled, 
Else  suffered,  it  will  set  the  heart  on  fire." 

— Shakespeare. 

THAT  Bertha  Schwartz  should  have  become  a  favor- 
ite in  B is  not  surprising.  A  maiden  of  her  intel- 
lect and  powers  of  pleasing  must  quickly  win  her  way 
into  all  hearts.  Her  Oriental  beauty,  quick  wit  and 
excellent  conversational  powers,  opened  to  her  the  doors, 
not  only  of  Jewish,  but  of  good  Christian  society  as 
well.  She  learned  English  with  remarkable  rapidity, 
and  soon  adapted  herself  to  American  ways  and  habits. 

At  Isaac's  house  her  life  ran  on  in  an  even  tenor. 
She  relieved  Lena  of  many  of  her  household  cares, 
looked  after  the  education  of  the  children  and  helped 
materially  to  cheer  her  moody  brother. 

It  was  at  the  Harmony  Club,  however,  that  Bertha 
reigned  in  a  truly  regal  manner.  She  was  the  life,  as 
she  had  been  the  original  inspiration,  of  the  club.  She 
was  a  graceful  dancer,  and  was  fond  of  worshiping  at 
the  shrine  of  Terpsichore. 

Her  singing  was  greatly  appreciated  by  her  not  too 
critical  audiences,  and  she  had  remarkable  ability  for 
arranging  amateur  theatricals,  tableaux  and  like  amuse- 
ments for  the  edification  of  the  club  members. 

190 


The  New  Acquaintance.  191 

With  Bertha's  advent  in  B ,  therefore,  a  new 

social  life  began  for  the  Jewish  inhabitants.  There  was 
a  continual  round  of  gaiety,  in  which  old  and  young 
participated,  and  in  consequence  old  animosities  were 
healed. 

Bertha  had,  moreover,  a  talent  for  bringing  together 
people  mutually  attractive,  and  at  least  three  weddings 
owed  their  celebration  to  her  deft  manipulations.  It 
may  seem  strange,  therefore,  to  the  reader,  as  it  did  to 
many  a  manoeuvring  parent  in  B ,  that  Bertha  her- 
self had  not  yet  succumbed  to  the  wiles  of  Cupid.  It 
was  not  that  Bertha  lacked  ardent  admirers.  Indeed, 
most  of  the  men  were  her  willing  slaves,  but  she  was 
slow  in  showing  any  preference.  Perhaps  the  most 
energetic  of  her  suitors  was  Mr.  Jacoby,  who,  before  he 
had  known  her  a  month,  was  so  deeply  in  love  with  her 
that  he  could  think  of  no  future  that  was  not  bound  up 
in  some  way  with  Bertha's.  He  meant  to  propose  as 
soon  as  an  opportunity  offered,  and  could  see  no  possible 
obstacle  to  his  being  accepted.  That  the  young  lady 
might  have  higher  views,  might  aspire  to  a  wealthier 
and  more  intellectual  husband,  did  not  occur  to  him, 
and  she,  without  desiring  it,  had  unconsciously  led  him 
on  in  his  selfish  belief.  She  sang  to  him,  and  accepted 
his  company  to  club  affairs,  much  as  she  did  for  Mr. 
Ehrlich  and  other  friends,  but  showed  him  no  special 
mark  of  sympathy.  Bound  up,  however,  in  his  pas- 
sion, Mr.  Jacoby  accepted  every  sign  of  good  will  as  an 
evidence  of  returned  affection,  and  nerved  himself  to 
the  ordeal  of  a  proposal. 

When  the  avowal  came,  Bertha  was  greatly  pained. 


192  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Her  open,  sympathetic  nature  would  not  willingly  have 
given  offence,  but  she  was  forced  to  confess  that  she  did 
not  love  him  and  could  not  risk  unhappiness  by  linking 
her  name  with  his.  It  was  a  severe  shock  to  poor 
Jacoby,  who  had  been  so  sure  of  his  ground  that  he 
never  contemplated  the  possibility  of  defeat.  Life's 
joy  seemed  at  an  end  for  the  despairing  young  man. 
To  remain  in  the  same  town  with  his  idol  was  impos- 
sible ;  and  after  lingering  for  a  week  or  more,  in  hopes 
of  a  possible  change  in  Bertha's  decision,  he  disposed 
of  his  business  and  suddenly  went  South. 

His  precipitate  departure,  following  so  closely  on  the 
heels  of  his  evident  attachment  to  Miss  Schwartz,  set 
malicious  tongues  wagging,  and  though  neither  he  nor 
Bertha  vouchsafed  any  information,  rumor  was  busy 
with  their  names. 

"  Yot  do  you  t'ink  about  it,  eh  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Rosen- 
heim  of  Mr.  Ehrlich  one  evening,  as  they  walked  lei- 
surely homeward  after  a  board  meeting  at  the  synagogue. 
"  I  ain't  one  of  dem  people  vot  gossip  about  t'ings  dat 
don'd  concern  dem,  but  my  vife  and  I  vere  avake  for 
over  an  hour  last  night,  speaking  aboud  it.  Maybe  dere 
ain'd  nodding  to  it,  but  I  tell  you  vot  it  is.  It  looks 
mighty  funny  for  Jacoby,  who  just  started  a  store  und 
vos  doing  veil,  to  give  up  und  go  to  a  strange  town,  ain'd 
it  ? "  And  Rosenheim  pursed  up  his  lips  sagely,  and 
looked  at  Ehrlich,  as  though  the  latter  might  have  some 
esoteric  light  to  throw  upon  the  mystery. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  a  reason  which  none  of  us  sus- 
pects," replied  Ehrlich.  "  One  must  not  jump  at  con- 
clusions. I  have  heard  that  Jacoby  has  a  cousin  living 


The  New  Acquaintance.  193 

in  Richmond,  and  that  he  went  into  business  with 
him." 

"Ja,  ja!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Rosenheim,  shaking  his 
head  vigorously.  "  It  ain'd  de  cousin  vich  he  has,  but 
de  vife  he  couldn't  get,  dat  sent  him  to  Richmond.  You 
can't  fool  a  man  like  me.  Vot  does  de  Talmud  say  ? 
( Hakkal  Bernach.'  Veil,  vot's  de  difference  vot  de 
Talmud  says  ?  It  means  dere  ain'd  anyt'ing  sure  aboud 
love  except  its  uncertainty." 

Rosenheim  seemed  pleased  with  his  own  powers  of  per- 
ception. Truly  the  Talmud  stood  him  in  good  stead. 
Suddenly  the  old  gentleman  prodded  his  companion  in 
the  ribs,  and  asked,  with  a  malicious  wink : 

"  Veil,  Mr.  Ehrlich,  dere  is  one  rival  less  to  fear.  Vy 
don'd  you  try  to  vin  der  young  lady  yourself,  eh  ?  Vot 
does  de  Talmud  say — " 

"Oh,  bother  the  Talmud!"  cried  Ehrlich,  irritated 
a%t  the  president's  loquaciousness ;  for  it  was  beginning 
to  touch  a  tender  spot. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  awhile,  the  president 
chuckling  to  himself,  Ehrlich  immersed  in  deep  thought. 
Having  reached  Mr.  Rosenheim's  house,  he  hurriedly 
said  good-night,  and  continued  to  stroll  on  alone. 

Although  he  was  averse  to  discussing  the  subject  with 
another,  least  of  all  with  a  busybody  like  Rosenheim, 
he  could  not  deny  that  he  felt  a  secret  satisfaction  at 
Jacoby's  departure,  no  matter  what  the  cause  may  have 
been.  He,  too,  loved  Bertha  devotedly.  To  him  she 
was  the  most  perfect  creature  earth  had  ever  produced, 
and  the  one  woman  necessary  to  his  happiness.  He 
lacked  the  conceit,  however,  to  believe  that  he  might 
13 


194  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

be  equally  important  to  Bertha's  happiness.  In  fact, 
often  as  he  examined  himself  critically,  he  could  find 
nothing  which  he  imagined  might  appeal  to  so  adorable 
a  nature.  Loving  Bertha  in  silence  contained  as  much 
bliss  as  he  could  aspire  to  for  the  present. 

Once,  indeed,  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  declaring 
himself,  but  had  reflected  in  time  that  not  in  a  single 
instance  had  Bertha  evinced  towards  him  more  consid- 
eration than  towards  the  other  young  men  of  her  social 
set.  In  this  respect  his  nature  was  the  opposite  of 
Jacoby's,  who  detected  in  every  smile  a  mark  of  prefer- 
ence. Ehrlich  was  truly  in  love.  With  him  it  was  a 
species  of  religious  feeling,  a  fervent  adoration  of  a 
woman  whom  he  conceived  to  be  better  and  nobler  than 
himself.  As  he  walked  along  silently  under  the  starlit 
sky  he  felt  a  serene  rapture  in  merely  whispering  her 
name.  And  the  world  seemed  to  him  to  be  enveloped 
in  an  atmosphere  of  romance.  The  stars,  the  trees,  the1 
very  people  he  passed,  were  to  him  but  so  many  ripples 
on  the  vast  ocean  of  limitless  love. 

The  demon  of  doubt  cut  short  his  rhapsody  and 
brought  him  back  to  realities.  He  had  read  somewhere 
that  infatuation,  like  paralysis,  frequently  attacks  but  one 
side,  leaving  the  other  side  untouched.  Until  Bertha  her- 
self gave  him  some  indication  of  more  than  passing  friend- 
ship, he  would  resolutely  repress  his  flights  of  fancy. 

Meanwhile  he  was  not  sorry  that  the  number  of 
eligible  suitors  had  been  reduced  by  the  retirement  of 
a  formidable  rival,  and  he  consoled  himself  with  the 
thought  that  "  time  brings  roses." 

The  gossip  concerning  Bertha  and  Jacoby  in  due  time 


The  New  Acquaintance.  195 

reached  the  ears  of  Isaac  and  his  wife,  and  gave  rise  to 
a  serious  conversation  regarding  their  sister's  prospects. 

We  cannot  blame  Isaac  for  harboring  hopes  that 
Bertha  would  make  a  brilliant  marriage.  He  was  rational 
enough,  in  spite  of  his  vagaries  on  other  subjects,  to  real- 
ize that  so  exceptional  a  girl  would  not  be  long  without 
an  offer  of  marriage.  He  had  given  her  every  advan- 
tage that  wealth  could  procure,  and  was  anxious  that 
she  should  distinguish  herself  as  became  her  station. 

"It  is  strange,"  he  said  to  Lena  one  day,  "that 
Bertha  has  not  yet  met  her  fate." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  replied  Lena,  philosophically. 
"  Bertha  is  invaluable  to  me.  I  should  not  know  what 
to  do  without  her.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  her  off 
of  your  hands." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  in  a  hurry  !  But  she  is  getting  on  in 
years." 

"Why,  she  is  a  mere  child  yet.  Don't  attempt  to 
rush  matters.  Let  her  take  her  choice  leisurely,  and 
trust  to  her ;  she  won't  make  a  mistake." 

"Yes, but  Jacoby  is  gone.  She  might  have  had  him. 
He  was  a  clever  fellow,  and  is  destined  to  be  rich  some 
day." 

"  Perhaps  she  didn't  want  him,"  replied  Lena,  who 
alone  knew  Bertha's  secret.  "And  I  don't  blame  her. 
There  are  still  a  few  eligible  men  in  town." 

"  I'm  afraid  she's  rather  critical,"  insisted  Isaac. 

"  So  much  the  better.  Bertha  is  too  sensible  to  sur- 
render to  the  first  comer.  Let  her  take  her  time,  and 
when  she  does  marry,  may  it  be  a  good,  pious  Israelite 
who  is  worthy  of  her." 


196  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Bertha's  wishes  accorded  perfectly  with  those  of  Lena. 
To  her  there  was  no  thought  of  a  brilliant  match,  for 
such  things  were  not  often  realized  in  the  narrow  circle 

of  Jewish  society  in  B ;  but  she  yearned  for  a 

happy  marriage  with  a  man  after  her  own  heart.  Mar- 
riage was  not  to  her  a  necessity  or  an  ambition.  She 
knew  that  she  would  never  be  the  heroine  of  a  romance, 
nor  did  she  desire  such  a  distinction.  That  marriage  is 
the  goal  of  a  maiden's  life,  her  proper  sphere,  and  that 
a  woman  is  happier  in  wedlock  than  in  single  isolation, 
was  patent  to  her.  But  she  would  wait  until  love 
urged  her  to  so  serious  a  step.  Until  she  could  give  her 
heart  with  her  hand  to  a  man  possessing  the  moral  and 
mental  attributes  necessary  to  insure  her  happiness,  she 
would  remain  in  the  happy  security  of  her  brother's 
home.  In  the  meantime,  while  she  greatly  admired 
Mr.  Ehrlich,  she  did  not  as  yet  feel  herself  irresistibly 
drawn  towards  him.  Why  should  she  ?  He  had  never 
hazarded  a  display  of  his  feelings  towards  her,  and  she 
knew  nothing  of  the  struggle  going  on  within  him.  In 
her  presence  he  was  uniformly  pleasant  and  deferential, 
brought  her  books,  called  to  see  her  once  a  week,  chatted 
with  her  about  literature  and  music  at  the  club  reunions, 
but  was  not  the  gallant  cavalier  one  expects  to  find  in 
a  lover.  So  Bertha  wisely  refused  to  let  her  mind  dwell 
on  his  advantages. 

Mr.  Jacoby's  sudden  and  unforeseen  declaration  had 
grieved  her  sincerely,  and  had  the  eifect  of  making  her 
more  wary  in  her  intercourse  with  other  men. 

About  this  time  there  came  into  her  life  a  young  man 
who  unconsciously  threatened  to  upset  every  plan,  and 


The  New  Acquaintance.  197 

plunge  the  hapless  Isaac  still  further  into  the  gulf  of 
despair.  This  man  was  August  Kern,  an  intelligent 
and  worthy  person,  and  a  Catholic.  Kern  was  a  de- 
signer by  trade,  and  lived  with  his  widowed  mother  in 
the  house  adjoining  the  one  occupied  by  the  Schwartz 
family.  He  was  a  son  whose  earnings  were  dutifully 
spent  fop  the  support  and  comfort  of  his  gray-haired 
parent.  With  nothing  but  a  brick  wall  between  them, 
it  did  not  take  the  neighbors  long  to  become  acquainted 
with  each  other.  One  warm  summer  evening  Kern  sat 
before  his  door,  catching  the  stray  breezes  which  were 
wafted  from  the  river.  Isaac  and  his  family  were  sim- 
ilarly occupied  before  their  own  threshold.  A  conver- 
sation between  the  men  was  but  natural.  It  began  with 
the  weather,  and  by  a  natural  transition  it  drifted  into  a 
comparison  of  the  climates  of  Germany  and  America, 
and  thence  in  a  comparative  discussion  of  the  institutions 
of  these  two  countries.  It  was  then  that  the  important 
discovery  was  made  that  Kern  had  emigrated  from  a 
town  in  Bavaria,  but  ten  miles  from  Schwartz's  birth- 
place. Intimacy  quickly  sprang  up  between  the  expatri- 
ated countrymen.  Kern  was  invited  to  bring  his  chair 
to  Isaac's  sidewalk,  and  before  the  evening  had  passed, 
friendship  had  been  declared,  and  Joe  and  Rose  were 
sitting  contentedly  upon  Kern's  knees,  contributing  their 
share  toward  the  general  sociability. 

These  open-air  meetings  became  frequent,  and  when 
the  cool  weather  made  them  impracticable,  Kern  was 
cordially  invited  to  come  into  the  house,  and  the  conver- 
sation was  continued  in  Isaac's  cozy  parlor.  It  usually 
fell  to  Bertha's  lot  to  entertain  the  visitor,  and,  to  judge 


198  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

by  the  frequency  of  his  visits,  her  endeavors  in  that 
direction  were  successful.  They  had  both  visited  Nurn- 
berg  and  Wurtzburg,  had  been  to  the  mountains  of 
southern  Bavaria,  and  had  seen  many  wonderful  things 
in  common.  They  would  sit  for  hours  discussing  the 
old  country,  with  its  staid  old  ways,  its  quaint  towns  so 
different  from  those  of  America,  its  verdant  hills,  so 
much  greener  than  those  of  the  western  hemisphere; 
and  the  hours  passed  in  delightful  conversation,  and  a 
sympathy  was  created  which  threatened  to  develop  into 
something  deeper  than  friendship. 

Kern  was  a  bright  fellow  of  twenty-eight  and  some- 
what of  a  student,  having  taken  a  course  of  study  at  a 
good  German  gymnasium,  and  being  of  an  artistic  tem- 
perament, he  had  adopted  the  profession  of  textile  de- 
signing. He  was  a  handsome  youth,  tall  and  well  pro- 
portioned, with  curly  blonde  hair  and  moustache  and 
ideal  blue  eyes.  A  greater  contrast  in  types  of  personal 
beauty  than  his  and  Bertha's  could  scarcely  be  imagined. 
His  high  forehead  and  straight,  sensitive  nose  gave  evi- 
dence of  intellect  which  his  speech  did  not  belie.  As 
Bertha  was  a  girl  who  appreciated  education,  it  is  not 
strange  that  they  found  each  other  congenial  and  sought 
each  other's  society. 

One  morning  Kern  paid  his  neighbors  an  early  visit 
and  anxiously  begged  one  of  the  ladies  to  come  to  his 
house,  as  his  mother  had  suddenly  become  sick  and  was 
entirely  alone  and  helpless. 

Bertha  at  once  obeyed  the  summons.  She  found  the 
old  lady  in  bed,  with  a  high  fever,  and  instinctively 
divined  that  the  trouble  was  serious. 


The  New  Acquaintance.  199 

August  watched  her  nervously  as  she  arranged  the 
bed  and  made  his  mother  comfortable. 

"Go  for  the  doctor,"  she  whispered,  taking  him  aside; 
"  it  may  not  be  serious,  but  it  is  best  to  take  profes- 
sional advice." 

August's  fear  lent  wings  to  his  feet,  and  he  soon 
returned  with  the  doctor,  who  pronounced  the  sickness 
malarial  fever.  After  giving  Bertha  instructions  how 
to  act,  he  left,  promising  to  call  again. 

So  Bertha  was  involuntarily  installed  as  nurse.  While 
August  was  at  work,  she  and  Lena  took  turns  in  waiting 
on  the  ailing  woman,  who  quickly  mended  under  their 
tender  ministrations.  August  insisted  on  employing  a 
nurse,  but  Bertha  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing. 

"  A  pretty  pass,"  she  exclaimed,  "  if  one  should  not 
be  allowed  to  help  a  neighbor  and  a  friend  !" 

She  did  more  than  nurse.  She  prepared  the  meals  for 
Mr.  Kern,  and  he  was  forced  to  confess  that,  whatever 
might  be  the  relative  value  of  its  religion,  the  cooking 
of  Israel  far  surpassed  anything  he  had  ever  tasted. 

If  it  be  true  that  a  man's  heart  is  reached  through 
his  stomach,  then  it  is  not  strange  that  August's  peace 
of  mind  was  sadly  disturbed  and  his  soul  troubled. 
Bertha's  patience,  skill  and  amiability  were  powerful 
factors  in  setting  his  brain  in  a  whirl  and  preventing 
sleep. 

His  mother's  recovery  a  few  weeks  later  almost 
caused  him  a  pang  of  regret,  for  he  felt  it  would  mean 
a  separation  from  Bertha,  whom  he  now  regarded  in  the 
light  of  a  divinity.  The  old  lady,  thanks  to  good  nurs- 
ing, recovered  with  remarkable  rapidity,  and  was  soon 


200  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

able  to  attend  to  her  own  household,  and  Bertha  had  no 
further  pretext  for  visiting  the  house.  August,  after  an 
enforced  deprivation  of  her  society  for  several  days, 
could  no  longer  resist  the  temptation  to  see  her.  He 
and  his  mother  called  on  the  Schwartzes  to  thank  them 
for  their  kindly  interest,  and  thenceforth  August  was 
more  often  at  Isaac's  house  than  at  his  own. 

He  was  introduced  to  the  young  men  who  called,  and 
soon  found  himself  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  Mr. 
Ehrlich  and  his  friends,  in  whom  he  was  quick  to  recog- 
nize ability  and  intellect  above  the  ordinary. 

There  were  few  Germans  in  B except  those  of 

Jewish  blood,  and  Kern  found  it  but  natural  to  drift 
into  surroundings  more  congenial  to  him  than  those 
to  which  he  had  heretofore  been  accustomed.  He  forgot 
that  these  men  were  Jews,  in  the  joy  at  finding  them 
Germans,  and  they  were  no  less  pleased  to  welcome  him 
to  their  social  gatherings. 

Had  Isaac  been  less  absorbed  in  his  own  sorrowful 
breedings,  he  would  have  observed  and  checked  the  in- 
timacy which  was  springing  up  between  this  Gentile 
and  Bertha ;  for  to  him,  as  to  all  Hebrews,  there  could 
be  no  prospect  more  terrible  than  a  marriage  outside  of 
the  Jewish  faith.  His  mind  was  far  from  entertaining 
such  an  idea,  however.  He  liked  Kern  for  his  cheer- 
ful, talkative  disposition,  and  encouraged  his  visits. 
Occasionally  he  played  chess  with  him,  and,  as  Kern 
played  poorly  and  Isaac  well,  his  thoughts  were  for  a 
time  di verted  from  their  gloomy  channels. 

Lena,  too,  shrewd  as  she  was,  suspected  nothing. 
She  liked  August  and  found  it  pleasant  to  have  him 


The  New  Acquaintance.  201 

call.  He  was  a  constant  reminder  of  her  old  home. 
He  would  carve  the  most  beautiful  boats,  with  sail  and 
rudder,  for  Joe,  and  tell  Rose  the  most  fascinating  fairy 
tales.  He  would  escort  the  ladies  whenever  Isaac  was 
too  tired  or  too  preoccupied  to  accompany  them. 

The  young  man's  religion,  therefore,  was  not  con- 
sidered. With  each  succeeding  visit  Kern's  admiration 
for  his  rosy-cheeked  compatriot  grew  in  intensity.  It 
is  but  justice  to  Bertha  to  say  that  she  did  not  suspect 
the  feelings  which  were  agitating  August's  breast.  She 
had  been  reared  in  too  orthodox  a  school  to  dream  of 
matrimony  with  any  but  a  Jew,  and  had  any  one  sug- 
gested the  possibility  of  Kern's  falling  in  love  with  her, 
she  would  have  laughed  at  the  idea.  The  thought  of 
such  a  denouement  never  entered  her  head.  How  could 
she  imagine  that  Kern  was  burning  with  love  for  her  ? 
How  could  she  surmise  that  this  Christian,  who  could 
have  his  pick  of  so  many  girls  of  his  own  faith,  would 
set  his  heart  upon  one  of  the  despised  race  of  Hebrews? 
She  accepted  his  attentions  as  from  a  friend  bound  by 
ties  of  a  common  fatherland ;  but,  as  to  being  in  love 
with  him,  the  thought  was  preposterous  and  out  of  all 
reason. 

Had  she  been  aware  of  his  feelings  towards  her,  she 
would  have  promptly  ended  all  communication  with 
him ;  but  she  suspected  nothing,  from  her  lack  of 
guile ;  Lena  suspected  nothing,  from  her  lack  of  reflec- 
tion on  the  subject,  and  Isaac  suspected  nothing,  from 
his  lack  of  interest  in  his  surroundings.  And  so  Kern's 
visits  continued  and  increased  in  frequency. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE      POLICE     COURT. 

"  Avaunt !  and  quit  my  sight  !    Let  the  earth  hide  thee  1 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold ; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with." — Shakespeare. 

THE  year,  with  its  joys  and  sorrows,  passed  quickly. 
The  holidays  were  again  approaching,  and  with  them 
the  anniversary  of  Sweeny's  death.  The  harassed  mer- 
chant became  doubly  morbid  and  despondent  at  the 
proximity  of  the  Day  of  Atonement.  He  remem- 
bered, with  increasing  dread,  the  experiences  of  the 
year  before,  the  terror  which  had  seized  him,  the 
apparition  he  had  seen  ;  and  he  shuddered  as  he  thought 
that  his  frightful  ordeal  might  be  repeated.  Through 
force  of  brooding  over  the  subject,  he  gradually  worked 
himself  up  to  a  pitch  of  intense  agitation  as  the  Yom 
Kippur  approached.  The  eight  days  between  the  New 
Year  and  the  Day  of  Atonement  were  spent  in  vain 
grieving  over  the  past,  in  vain  imprecations  over  the 
present,  in  vain  speculations  concerning  the  future.  He 
neglected  his  business  and  his  charities,  and  appeared  to 
lose  interest  in  everything  terrestrial.  Lena  tried  to 
arouse  him  from  his  apparent  lethargy,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose ;  and,  having  done  her  best,  she  left  him,  as  usual, 
to  his  own  devices. 

202 


The  Police  Court.  203 

Again  the  eve  of  the  Holy  Day  was  at  hand.  Isaac 
sadly  went  to  his  room  to  attire  himself  for  the  syna- 
gogue. It  was  still  early  and  there  was  no  need  for 
haste.  Dejected  and  despondent,  he  took  a  seat  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  and  stared  dismally  at  the  opposite 
wall.  He  became  absorbed  in  a  study  of  the  wall- 
paper design. 

His  overwrought  brain,  prepared  by  brooding  on  the 
subject,  was  in  a  state  to  produce  apparitions,  if  they 
came  not  of  themselves.  His  imagination  was  freighted 
with  fantasies,  the  horror  of  which  grew  as  the  fated 
hour  approached.  The  ghost  of  his  wrong-doing  hov- 
ered over  his  every  act  and  thought,  and  embittered  his 
waking  and  his  sleeping  moments  ;  and  on  this  day, 
of  all  days,  the  torment  redoubled. 

It  was  just  two  years  ago  to-day  since  he  had  killed 
a  human  being.  In  spite  of  the  rapid  flight  of  time, 
what  weary  years  they  had  been  !  How  much  anguish 
and  misery  had  been  crowded  into  them ! 

An  inarticulate  prayer,  like  a  great  sob,  arose  from 
his  breast.  It  startled  him,  and  he  shivered  at  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice.  In  spite  of  every  effort  to  the 
contrary,  his  mind  reverted  to  the  one  idea. 

Just  two  years  ago,  he  mused,  involuntarily,  he  had 
eaten  his  supper,  and  stood  praying  with  his  Tallith 
about  his  shoulders,  when — horrid  recollections !  He 
would  not  indulge  in  them.  He  began  to  whistle,  but 
after  a  few  bars  the  sound  died  on  his  lips. 

What  a  curious  pattern  that  was  on  the  wall — long 
scrolls  of  white  winding  about  little  figures  of  red  ! 
Those  serpentine  scrolls — what  did  they  remind  him  of? 


204  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Ah,  yes,  he  knew  !  His  torn  praying  scarf.  Just  so  it 
was  wound  about  Sweeny's  head.  Good  God !  what  a 
vivid  resemblance  !  No,  he  would  not  think  of  it.  It 
was  absurd  to  be  constantly  thinking  of  the  past.  He 
tried  to  laugh  at  an  amusing  story  he  had  heard  that 
morning,  but  the  laugh  turned  to  a  groan. 

The  red  figures  on  the  paper,  how  like  spots  of  blood 
they  seemed  !  How  the  blood  had  streamed  from 
Sweeny's  forehead,  making  a  red  pool  upon  the  ground  ! 
That  stony  glare  upon  the  dead  man's  face  !  He  seemed 
to  see  it  yet.  It  was  too  terrible ;  he  would  drive  it 
from  his  memory.  He  hummed  an  odd  song  in  an 
effort  to  divert  his  thoughts  into  other  channels. 

Again  he  returned  involuntarily  to  a  study  of  the 
wall-paper.  There  were  little  dots  of  gold  interspersed 
among  the  figures.  They  looked  like  nuggets.  How 
they  glittered !  Ah,  that  gold  !  Would  that  he  had 
never  touched  it !  He  again  saw  himself  digging  for 
it  behind  the  log  cabin.  How  he  scratched  and  bur- 
rowed, tugged  and  pulled,  until  he  had  torn  the  sack 
from  its  concealment  !  How  he  crawled  with  it  to  the 
village,  looking  behind  him  at  every  step  for  fear  of 
being  followed  by  the  murdered  man  !  It  was  horrible, 
horrible ! 

"  Isaac !"  cried  his  wife,  from  an  adjoining  room. 
"  Are  you  ready  ?" 

The  miserable  man  shrank  in  terror  at  the  sound  of 
her  voice. 

"  Directly,"  he  replied,  hoarsely.  "  I  will  be  ready 
in  a  moment." 

He  began  to  make  preparations  for  his  toilet,  but 


The  Police  Court.  205 

found  himself  so  nervous  that  he  could  scarcely  dress. 
It  was  a  slow  and  tedious  process.  He  caught  sight  of 
his  face  in  the  mirror.  It  was  pale,  like  that  of  a 
corpse.  He  stared  at  his  image  for  a  long  time,  and 
then  whispered,  "  Murderer  !"  And  the  reflection  in 
the  glass  moved  its  ghastly  lips,  and  sent  back  the  accu- 
sation, "  Murderer !" 

"  Good  gracious,  Isaac,  why  don't  you  hurry  ?"  said 
Lena,  irritably,  coming  into  the  room,  and  finding  her 
husband  still  in  a  state  of  dishabille.  "  We  will  be  late 
for  the  service." 

"Go  alone  with  Bertha.  I  will  come  later,"  said 
Isaac. 

"  No ;  you  must  come  with  us,"  replied  his  wife? 
anxious  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  It  will  take  me  a  while  to  dress.  I  am  somewhat 
nervous.  Go  in  advance,  and  I  will  be  there  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"  If  you  are  not  feeling  well,  perhaps  you  had  better 
stay  at  home,  and  let  me  remain  with  you." 

"  No ;  go  with  Bertha.  We  must  go  to  the  synagogue 
to-day.  It  is  the  holiest  time  of  the  year.  Don't  be 
uneasy  about  me." 

Lena  left  the  room  reluctantly,  and  with  her  sister- 
in-law  departed  for  the  synagogue.  The  children  had 
gone  with  their  nurse  to  the  park,  and  Isaac  was  left 
alone  in  the  house  with  his  sinister  thoughts. 

He  felt  instinctively  that  the  dreaded  ordeal  was  at 
hand — that  he  would  again  see  the  phantom  of  his  vic- 
tim, as  he  had  seen  it  the  year  before.  He  tried  to 
finish  his  toilet,  but  he  trembled  so  violently  that  he 


206  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

made  but  little  progress.  A  dull,  heavy  weight  lay 
upon  his  heart.  He  sat  down  again  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed,  and  gazed  into  vacancy  in  the  attitude  of  despair- 
ing attention,  as  if  listening  for  some  expected  sound. 
The  pallor  of  his  countenance  had  reached  a  ghastly 
hue,  an  irrepressible  terror  pervaded  his  brain. 

"  Oh,  that  I  might  die  !"  The  thought  formed  itself 
into  words — into  a  prayer.  "  Would  that  God  might 
take  me  to  him  on  this  day  !" 

Was  this  death  ?  A  mist  seemed  to  obscure  his 
vision,  a  languor  seized  upon  him  and  his  heart  appar- 
ently ceased  its  throbbing.  His  head  began  to  swim. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  he  was  dying — dying  with 
the  hideous  crime  upon  his  soul,  and  no  atonement,  no 
mercy  in  heaven.  No,  he  could  not  die  thus.  He  cried 
aloud  in  his  fear;  but  no  one  heard  him,  for  he  was  alone. 

He  drew  himself  together  with  his  little  remaining 
strength,  and  bega$  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 
He  struggled  to  shake  off  the  feeling  which  had  do- 
minion over  him,  and  tried  to  believe  that  his  fears 
were  due  to  a  foolish  and  useless  agitation — the  result 
of  poignant  remorse.  It  was  of  no  avail.  He  was 
overpowered  by  a  sense  of  guilt — by  a  fear  that  his 
crime  would  be  speedily  avenged.  There  was  a  species 
of  wild  hysteria  in  his  manner  as  he  measured  the  floor 
with  his  reeling  steps. 

Ha !  the  hideous  delusion  was  coming  back  to  him 
with  startling  vividness — the  torn  Tallith,  the  pick, 
the  murder,  the  bleeding  corpse.  He  shrank  against 
the  wall ;  his  eyes  were  staring  fixedly  before  him ; 
there  was  a  stony  rigidity  in  his  whole  body. 


The  Police  Court.  207 

What  was  that  ?  A  click  at  the  front  door,  a  creak 
upon  the  staircase.  Was  it  the  ghost  of  Sweeny  coming 
for  his  victim  ?  Isaac's  veins  stood  out  like  whip-cords 
upon  his  forehead  in  the  agony  of  suspense.  The  door 
opened  hastily,  and  Lena  entered.  She  had  found  no 
rest  in  the  synagogue,  and,  troubled  at  her  husband's 
absence,  had  hurried  back  to  get  him. 

"  Lena !"  shrieked  the  terror-stricken  man.  "  Lena, 
is  it  you  ?  Oh,  God,  I  thought  it  was  he  I"  and  he 
laughed  hysterically. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Isaac  ?"  cried  his  wife,  fright- 
ened at  his  strange  agitation. 

"  Nothing  !"  he  shouted,  excitedly.  "  I  was  waiting 
for  some  one.  Ha,  ha,  we  have  duped  him !  He  will 
not  dare  to  come  if  you  are  with  me.  I  am  safe — 
safe !" 

"  Dear  Isaac,  will  you  not  confide  in  me  ?"  she  said, 
her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"  It  is  nothing  at  all,  Lena.  I  was  dreaming.  It  is 
all  over  now.  Come,  Lena,  we  will  be  merry ;  we  will 
sing  a  song;  we  will  dance." 

The  half-crazed  man  seized  his  wife  around  the  waist, 
and  pulled  her  about  the  room  in  a  wild  transport  of 
hilarity.  Around  and  around  they  went  in  a  perfect 
devil's  dance.  Anything  to  forget,  to  drive  away  his 
maddening  thoughts. 

"  Isaac,  you  are  killing  me,"  cried  Lena,  frightened 
beyond  the  power  of  words  by  this  strange  outburst. 
"  Let  me  go.  Do  you  hear  ?  You  are  hurting  me." 

At  length  the  frenzy  came  to  an  end  through  sheer 
exhaustion.  Isaac  released  his  wife,  and,  reeling  to  the 


208  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

bed,  he  fell  heavily  upon  it  and  swooned  away.  Lena 
was  in  despair.  What  could  she  do?  Had  her  hus- 
band become  insane  ?  She  had  feared  so  on  previous 
occasions ;  she  was  almost  convinced  of  it  now.  Oh, 
if  she  could  but  fathom  the  terrible  secret  which  was 
destroying  his  happiness  and  hers  !  The  servant  came 
in  soon  after  with  the  children,  and  was  immediately 
sent  for  a  physician.  By  the  time  he  arrived,  Isaac  had 
recovered  from  his  swoon  and  lay  peacefully  and  calmly 
in  bed,  with  Lena  tenderly  ministering  to  his  wants. 
The  practitioner  listened  to  a  description  of  the  symp- 
toms, shook  his  head,  prescribed  a  sleeping  potion  and 
went  away,  promising  to  call  on  the  morrow. 

"  What  do  you  think  ails  my  husband,  doctor?"  asked 
Lena,  as  she  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 

"  He  is  working  too  hard.  By  all  means  keep  him 
away  from  the  store,  and  from  all  excitement,  such  as 
speculation." 

Lena  promised ;  but  she  knew  better  than  the  doctor. 
It  was  several  days  before  Isaac  was  entirely  free  from 
fever  and  could  leave  his  room ;  but  during  those  days 
of  enforced  idleness  he  had  formed  a  desperate  resolu- 
tion. He  would  end  his  torture.  He  would  go  to  the 
authorities,  give  himself  up,  and  expiate  his  crime  ac- 
cording to  law.  Then  perhaps  he  would  find  relief  from 
this  terrible  mental  agony.  This  resolution  once  taken, 
it  was  astonishing  how  calm  he  became.  He  quietly 
went  to  a  lawyer,  made  his  will,  and  so  arranged  his 
eifects  that  should  an  immediate  imprisonment  follow 
his  confession,  his  wife  would  have  no  difficulty  in  con- 
tinuing his  business.  He  was  prepared  for  the  worst, 


The  Police  Court.  209 

and  ready  for  any  ordeal.  On  Friday  morning  he 
would  go  to  the  police,  and  have  done  with  this  consum- 
ing suspense  forever. 

Friday  morning  came,  and  he  who  had  been  so  stead- 
fast began  to  waver.  His  old  foe,  indecision,  was  be- 
ginning to  assert  itself. 

"My  dear,"  said  Lena,  as  they  were  sitting  at  the 
breakfast  table,  "  you  are  eating  nothing.  Are  you  un- 
well?" 

"  No ;  I  am  not  hungry." 

"  Try  a  piece  of  toast  and  an  egg ;  they  will  do  you 
good.  Come,  for  my  sake." 

He  tried  to  eat,  but  the  experiment  was  a  failure. 
He  looked  silently  and  piteously  around  the  table  at  his 
patient,  affectionate  wife,  at  his  smiling  sister,  his  bright 
little  son  and  prattling  little  daughter,  and  he  wondered 
how  they  would  take  the  news  of  his  arrest.  Lena 
would  no  doubt  weep  and  curse  the  day  she  had  married 
him.  A  sudden  spasm  contracted  his  features  as  he 
thought  of  it.  Josie  would  live  to  hate  the  memory  of 
a  father  who  had  heaped  such  disgrace  upon  his  young 
life.  Rose  would  grow  to  womanhood,  despised  and 
shunned  because  her  father  had  been  a  murderer.  Isaac 
tortured  himself  with  these  reflections.  What  could  he 
do  ?  Where  should  he  turn  for  advice  ?  The  die  was 
cast;  he  would  give  himself  up.  He  would  go  at 
once,  before  fear  and  regret  influenced  his  wavering 
will. 

Pie  arose  hastily,  and  kissed  them  all  good-by.    Would 
he  ever  see  them   again?     Yes,  perhaps,  from  behind 
prison  bars.     Lena  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 
14 


210  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Isaac,"  she 
•whispered  in  the  hall. 

"What  is  it?     I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"  It  is  important.  Have  you  noticed  how  frequently 
August  Kern  calls  on  Bertha?" 

"  No,  I  did  not  observe  it,"  replied  Isaac,  scarcely 
paying  attention  to  the  question.  His  mind  was  busy 
with  a  more  important  matter. 

"  This  intimacy  alarms  me.  August  has  been  coming 
here  nearly  every  evening  for  some  weeks  past,  and  I 
think  it  wrong  to  encourage  his  visits." 

"  August  is  a  fine  fellow,  a  perfect  gentleman,"  an- 
swered Isaac,  forcibly  bringing  his  mind  to  the  subject. 

"  Yes ;  but  he  is  a  Christian." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"  I'm  afraid  he  wants  to  marry  Bertha." 

"  What  an  idea  !     He  is  friendly  to  all  of  us." 

"  Listen,  Isaac !  Last  night  he  again  called  on  Bertha. 
I  had  occasion  to  go  into  the  room  for  my  shawl,  and 
came,  I  think,  just  in  time  to  prevent  a  declaration.  At 
least  he  seemed  rather  embarrassed  at  the  sudden  inter- 
ruption. Would  you  permit  Bertha  to  marry  a  Chris- 
tian?" 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  Bertha  is  too  sensible  to  give  him 
any  encouragement." 

"  Bertha  is  an  impressionable  girl,  like  many  others, 
and  love  laughs  at  religion,  as  well  as  at  locksmiths." 

Isaac's  mind  was  again  wandering  from  the  subject. 
He  was  thinking  of  what  he  would  tell  the  judge  on  the 
day  of  his  trial. 

"What  had  we  better  do,  Isaac?"  asked  his  wife. 


The  Police  Court.  211 

"I  don't  know.  I'll  think  it  over.  Don't  worry. 
Something  may  occur  between  now  and  then." 

"  It  is  a  serious  matter." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  We  must  do  something,  but  I  must 
go  now.  Good-by."  He  kissed  her  affectionately, 
twice,  thrice,  and  held  her  in  such  tight  embrace  that 
she  was  surprised.  Then  he  put  on  his  hat  and  dashed 
down  the  stairs  into  the  street. 

On  he  rushed  in  mad  haste  to  police  headquarters,  as 
though  afraid  that  some  one  might  stop  him  in  his 
progress.  He  was  anxious  to  unbosom  himself,  and 
dreaded  a  weakening  of  his  determination. 

The  police  van  had  just  discharged  its  load  of  prison- 
ers and  was  still  standing  before  the  station-house,  with 
a  motley  group  of  curious  idlers  around  it,  staring  in 
open-mouthed  wonder  at  the  dingy  wagon  with  its  little, 
railed  windows.  Isaac  pushed  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  and  walked  with  slow,  uncertain  steps  into  the 
court-room.  There  was  a  sleepy  magistrate,  surrounded 
by  a  number  of  police  officers,  and  several  reporters 
who  were  taking  down  the  proceedings  for  their  respec- 
tive papers. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  prisoners  in  the  room — two 
arrested  for  intoxication,  one  for  disorderly  conduct, 
and  several  for  petty  theft.  The  accused  were  all  per- 
sons of  hardened  character,  and  sat  awaiting  their  trial, 
chatting  as  merrily  as  though  they  were  occupying 
places  of  honor.  A  woman  was  being  examined  by 
the  magistrate.  Her  crime  was  habitual  drunkenness. 
She  was  a  yellow,  haggard,  decrepit  old  female,  in  a 
tattered,  faded  shawl  and  a  patched  dress,  with  hair 


212  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

disheveled  and  untidy,  and  eyes  bleared  with  drink  and 
exposure.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  a  more  repulsive  and 
degraded  object,  a  creature  more  debased  by  destitution 
and  by  misery,  than  this  relict  of  what  once  was  a 
woman.  Hardened  beyond  redemption,  she  replied 
impudently  to  the  magistrate's  questions,  and  took  her 
sentence  of  "  Thirty  days  "  with  a  smile  of  impertinent 
indifference.  Isaac  shuddered  as  he  realized  that  he 
was  brought  to  the  level  of  this  person,  and  going  to  an 
officer,  he  asked  for  the  chief  of  police. 

"  He  is  not  in  yet,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  will  wait  for  him." 

Isaac  sat  down  and  stupidly  watched  the  proceedings. 

A  boy  was  called  up,  accused  of  picking  pockets. 
He  faced  the  magistrate  with  an  air  of  sullen  bravado, 
while  his  mother,  who  was  in  the  room,  cried  bitterly, 
and  begged  his  Honor  for  mercy.  The  magistrate, 
stern  and  unrelenting,  took  no  heed  of  the  mother's 
prayers,  but  unhesitatingly  pronounced  the  boy's  sen- 
tence, "  One  year  in  the  House  of  Correction." 

Isaac's  resolution  to  give  himself  up  began  to  waver. 
It  was  terrible  to  be  brought  into  the  society  of  such 
malefactors.  The  air  of  the  little  room  seemed  reek- 
ing with  corruption  and  vice.  He  could  stand  it  no 
longer. 

"  I  will  be  back  again,"  he  said  to  the  officer,  and 
rushed  into  the  street. 

He  walked  up  and  down  before  the  police  station  for 
some  time,  confusedly  trying  to  think  out  some  plan  of 
action.  Should  he  go  home  and  abandon  his  idea  of 
surrender  ?  No  ;  his  mind  was  made  up ;  he  must 


The  Police  Court.  213 

go  on  to  the  bitter  end.  But  he  would  gain  time.  He 
took  a  walk  along  the  river  and  tried  to  think ;  but  his 
head  was  swimming  and  thoughts  came  sluggishly. 

What  if  he  committed  suicide  ?  It  was  the  quickest 
way  to  end  his  agony.  One  plunge  into  the  silently 
flowing  water  and  all  would  be  over.  Not  all !  There 
was  another  world  to  come.  Suicide  would  but  double 
the  sum  of  his  iniquities.  Did  not  the  Law  declare  that 
suicide  was  as  great  a  crime  as  murder  ?  He  continued 
his  walk  mechanically.  Presently  he  heard  a  clock 
strike  eleven.  It  was  time  to  go  back  to  the  police 
station  ;  perhaps  the  chief  would  be  in.  He  sought  for 
the  best  words  in  which  to  tell  his  secret. 

Yes,  the  chief  had  just  come.  Would  the  gentleman 
wait  a  moment  ? 

Isaac  sat  down  on  the  wooden  bench  reserved  for 
criminals  and  waited.  A  thousand  conflicting  thoughts 
ran  through  his  brain.  The  suspense  was  awful.  Again 
the  recollection  of  Lena  and  the  children  flashed 
through  his  mind.  What  would  they  say,  what  would 
they  do,  when  they  found  him  out  ?  He  pictured  their 
surprise  and  grief,  their  tears  and  their  disgrace.  Dared 
he  inflict  this  torture  upon  his  beloved  ones  ?  And  yet 
dared  he  go  back  home,  where  nothing  but  remorse  and 
sorrow  awaited  him  ?  He  had  come  to  confess,  but  he 
dreaded  confessing.  The  effect  it  would  have  on  his 
beloved  family  appealed  to  him  through  the  exaggerated 
medium  of  fear.  He  saw  the  necessity  for  further  con- 
cealment. He  almost  shrieked  in  his  desperation,  as 
the  hopelessness  of  his  case  presented  itself.  He  heard 
steps  in  the  ante-room ;  it  was  no  doubt  the  chief  of 


214  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

police,  who  was  coming  to  learn  his  errand.  What  was 
to  be  done?  Isaac  ran  to  the  door.  He  wanted  to 
temporize,  to  reason  with  himself.  He  reached  the 
street  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  indecision.  Suddenly 
he  heard  a  familiar  little  voice : 

"  Papa,  papa  !     I'm  so  glad  I  have  found  you  ! " 

It  was  Josie,  who  had  been  sent  by  his  mother  on  an 
errand  in  the  neighborhood.  Isaac  caught  the  little 
fellow  in  his  arms  and  covered  him  with  kisses. 

"  Mamma  has  been  awfully  worried  about  you,"  said 
Josie.  "  Won't  you  come  home  with  me  ?  " 

Isaac  hesitated.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  forbidding 
police  court ;  on  the  other  his  loving  family  and  com- 
fortable home. 

"Yes,  Josie,  I  will  go  home  with  you."  And  taking 
his  son  by  the  hand,  he  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

Thus  did  Isaac's  brave  resolution  come  to  nought. 
Lena,  who  had  been  anxious  over  his  long  absence, 
received  him  with  every  demonstration  of  joy,  and  the 
family  sat  down  to  their  midday  meal.  Isaac  ate  with 
appetite,  and  laughed  heartily  at  the  remarks  of  his 
children.  It  was  like  a  happy  reunion  after  a  long  and 
painful  separation. 

By  evening,  however,  all  his  doubts  and  troubles 
returned  to  him,  and  he  went  to  bed  as  thoroughly 
miserable  as  it  was  possible  for  mortal  to  be. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE     HARMONY     CLUB. 

"  Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 
And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell." — Byron, 

THE  Harmony  Club  rooms  were  ablaze  with  light 
and  glory  on  the  occasion  of  the  second  anniversary  of 
the  club's  existence,  and  well  might  that  institution  be 
proud  of  its  success,  for  it  had  accomplished  wonders 
since  an  inspiration  had  given  it  birth.  Twice  it  had 
been  obliged  to  change  its  abode  in  order  to  accommo- 
date its  increasing  membership.  At  least  six  weddings 
and  several  engagements  were  directly  traceable  to  its 
benign  influence,  and  the  heavenly  work  was  still  going 
on.  It  now  occupied  the  entire  second  floor  of  a  hall 
recently  built  on  New  Street.  There  was  a  very  large 
room  used  as  an  auditorium  or  ball-room.  This 
was  thrown  open  to  the  members  on  festive  occasions 
only.  There  were  besides  half  a  dozen  smaller  rooms, 
ordinarily  used  for  card-playing,  and  which  rarely 
lacked  occupants  during  the  evenings,  most  members 
indulging  in  such  innocent  games  as  solo-whist,  klob- 
beryos  and  penochle.  There  was  besides  a  library, 
containing  a  few  books,  magazines  and  a  piano,  which 
latter  was  in  much  demand  on  ladies'  nights,  but  was 
otherwise  tactfully  silent. 

215 


216  A  Victim  of  Conscience, 

On  the  great  night  of  the  club's  anniversary  the 
auditorium  had  been  converted  into  a  sylvan  bower — 
that  is  to  say,  as  well  as  long  strings  of  evergreen  and 
festoons  of  fir  branches,  dangling  from  the  chandeliers, 
could  carry  out  the  illusion.  Benches  were  placed  in 
serried  rows  across  the  hall,  and  the  platform  had 
been  converted  into  a  stage  by  the  aid  of  a  number  of 
heavy  cretonne  curtains  stretched  on  wires  behind  the 
footlights. 

A  vast  audience  was  present,  and  everybody,  though 
comfortably  seated,  was  still  on  the  tiptoe  of  expect- 
ancy, for  the  programme  presaged  some  wonderful 
numbers.  A  series  of  allegorical  tableaux  was  to  begin 
the  evening's  pleasure,  after  which  a  dance  was  to  fur- 
ther divert  the  guests.  Not  one  of  the  two  hundred 
members  was  absent,  and  as  each  brought  his  family, 
or  lacking  that,  his  sweetheart,  the  hall  was  filled. 

Bertha  Schwartz  had  been  breathlessly  busy  for  the 
past  two  weeks  rehearsing  the  tableaux,  which  were  all  of 
her  own  designing,  and  which  promised  to  be  artistically 
successful. 

A  good  orchestra  sat  in  front  of  the  improvised 
stage  and  played  a  spirited  overture,  which  was  received 
with  unstinted  applause. 

Mr.  Bergthal,  who,  with  his  wife,  sat  in  the  front 
row,  and  whose  daughter  Emma  had  a  leading  part  in 
the  tableaux,  remarked,  rubbing  his  hands  with  evident 
satisfaction  : 

"  Dot's  vot  I  call  moosic.  Id's  got  some  life  aboud  id, 
don'd  id?  Some  of  dem  musicianers,  ven  dey  get 
paid  by  de  hour,  play  nodding  bud  shlow  moosic,  und 


The  Harmony  Club.  217 

you  don'd  got  your  money's  vorth.  I  like  moosic  fast, 
und  lods  of  it." 

His  wife,  as  usual,  agreed  with  him,  and  they  concen- 
trated their  attention  on  the  stage.  The  cretonne  cur- 
tain was  slowly  drawn  aside  and  revealed  a  plastic 
group,  which,  according  to  the  programme,  signified 
"  The  Sabbath." 

Moses  Blumen,  a  boy  of  seventeen,  the  son  of  the 
mantilla  manufacturer,  stood  in  pious  attitude,  com- 
pletely covered  by  his  father's  "  Tallith,"  and  with  an 
open  prayer-book  in  his  hand.  At  his  right,  and  slightly 
raised,  hovered  Emma  Bergthal,  radiant  in  white.  She 
represented  the  Genius  of  the  Sabbath,  and  held  her 
hand  as  if  in  blessing  over  the  praying  form.  The 
orchestra  softly  played  the  sweet  strains  of  the  "  Lecho 
Dodi." 

A  murmur  of  applause  testified  to  the  appreciation 
which  the  picture  had  awakened,  and  the  curtain  was 
twice  withdrawn  to  gratify  the  pleased  audience.  Mr. 
Bergthal  could  scarcely  contain  his  joy,  and  received 
the  congratulations  of  the  friends  near  him  with  loud 
and  ungrammatical  satisfaction. 

The  next  tableau  represented  "The  Sanctity  of 
Law,"  and  was  equally  felicitous  in  its  realization. 
Izzy  Rosenheim,  in  a  long  beard  and  flowing  patri- 
archal robe,  impersonated  Moses,  bearing  in  his  hand 
the  two  stone  tablets.  On  either  side  were  two  little 
girls  in  white,  signifying  "  Civilization "  and  "  Reli- 
gion," pointing  rapturously  to  the  Ten  Commandments. 
It  was  a  very  effective  group,  although  the  chubbiness 
of  the  Great  Lawgiver,  and  his  appearance  of  extreme 


218  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

youth,  notwithstanding  his  long  beard  and  wig,  were 
the  subject  of  good-humored  comment. 

Mr.  Roscnheim,  however,  found  the  presentation 
ideal. 

"  I  tell  you  vot  it  is,"  he  said,  to  the  friends  about 
him ;  "  so  long  as  dis  is  an  ally-gorry,  or  votever  you 
call  him,  und  it  represents  de  time  vot  vas  young  cen- 
turies ago,  Moses  ought  to  be  a  young  man.  Vot  does 
de  Talmud  say — " 

But  the  Talmud  quotation  was  lost  in  the  excite- 
ment caused  by  the  drawing  back  of  the  curtain  for  the 
third  tableau.  This  was  striking,  from  the  fact  that 
Bertha  Schwartz  was  its  central  figure.  It  typified 
"  Liberty  Extending  Its  Blessings  to  All  Religions." 
Bertha,  standing  on  a  pedestal,  classically  arrayed  in 
white,  with  a  light  blue  liberty  cap  upon  her  head,  her 
rosy  cheeks  beaming,  her  long,  wavy  black  hair  streaming 
down  her  back,  was  indeed  a  sight  to  bring  pleasure,  not 
only  to  Louis  Ehrlich  and  Richard  Kern,  but  to  every 
man,  woman  and  child  in  the  audience.  A  more  gra- 
cious embodiment  of  Liberty  had  never  been  seen  in 

B .  At  her  feet,  artistically  grouped,  stood  the  two 

Schneefelder  boys  and  the  two  hopeful  scions  of  the 
Basch  family,  each  arrayed  to  represent  a  different 
creed,  while  Liberty  extended  both  her  hands  to  them 
in  welcome  and  protection,  the  band  meanwhile  playing 
"  My  Country  'Tis  of  Thee." 

It  was  a  beautiful  conception,  beautifully  carried  out. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Solomon  Basch  sat  enraptured.  The 
poor,  down-trodden  husband  had  the  temerity  to  press 
his  wife's  hand  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  feelings,  and  she, 


The  Harmony  Club.  219 

pausing  in  "her  knitting  (which  she  always  had  with  her), 
returned  the  pressure  and  smiled.  Oh,  the  pride  of 
having  one's  children  appear  so  successfully  before  a 
discriminating  public !  Mrs.  Schneefelder,  too,  sat 
beaming  and  blushing  to  the  very  edge  of  her  brown 
"  sheitel,"  and  glanced  on  everybody  in  general,  with  a 
smile  which  plainly  said,  "Just  see  what  my  boys  can 
do,  if  they  put  their  minds  to  it !" 

The  curtain  was  being  drawn  aside  for  the  second 
time  on  this  pretty  group,  when  an  unforeseen  accident 
happened.  The  hook  holding  the  wire  on  which  the 
proscenium  screen  was  hung,  pulled  out  of  the  post  in 
which  it  had  been  negligently  fastened,  and  the  heavy 
curtain  fell  to  the  floor,  revealing  the  hidden  secrets  of 
stage-craft,  screens  and  costumes.  But  it  revealed  more. 
Sitting  on  the  stage,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  coming 
exposure,  sat  Emma  Bergthal  and  Izzy  Rosenheim.  He 
had  his  arm  lovingly  about  her  waist  and  her  hand  in 
his,  and  was  whispering  something  very  delightful  into 
her  ear. 

It  was  the  prettiest,  most  successful  tableau  of  the 
evening,  and  a  shout  of  laughter  greeted  the  unexpected 
picture.  Izzy  sprang  up,  red  with  mortification,  and 
Emma  hung  her  head  with  shame. 

And  Mr.  Bergthal !  He  rose  from  his  seat,  furious 
with  anger,  and  rushed  up  the  aisle  and  bounded  upon 
the  platform. 

"  You  young  vagabond  !"  he  shouted,  seizing  Izzy  by 
the  arm  with  one  hand  and  administering  a  box  on  the 
ear  with  the  other.  "  Didn'd  I  told  you  twice  alretty  I 
don'd  vant  you  to  have  nodding  mit  my  daughter  to  do? 


220  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Got  out  of  here  so  fast  you  can,  und  if  I  caught  you 
again  mit  mine  Emma  making  love,  I  vill  lick  you  dill 
you  couldn't  shtood  up  alretty  !" 

"  Hush,  papa,  you're  making  a  scene,"  said  Emma, 
pacifically,  while  the  whole  audience  was  in  an  uproar 
at  the  unexpected  denouement. 

JRosenheim,  seeing  his  flesh  and  blood  assaulted,  was 
on  the  point  of  joining  the  actors  on  the  stage,  but  was 
wisely  restrained  by  his  sagacious  wife,  and  Bergthal 
was  quietly  and  firmly  led  to  his  seat  by  Mr.  Ehrlich, 
who,  as  master  of  ceremonies,  could  not  look  with  indif- 
ference upon  so  flagrant  a  violation  of  the  programme. 

Further  tableaux  being  out  of  the  question,  the  hall 
was  cleared  for  dancing. 

Mr.  Rosenheim  immediately  sought  out  Mr.  Berg- 
thai,  whom  he  found  guarding  his  daughter  in  the 
dressing-room,  and  cried,  with  suppressed  anger,  but 
with  an  assumed  dignity  befitting  his  position  as  presi- 
dent of  the  congregation  : 

"  I  tell  you  vot  it  is,  Mr.  Bergthal ;  if  you  ever  lay 
hands  on  my  boy  again,  I'll  have  de  law  on  you." 

"  Und  I  told  you  vot  it  is,"  said  Bergthal,  in  grow- 
ing excitement,  his  face  red  with  indignation ;  "  if  I 
ketch  your  son  mit  my  daughter  again  alretty,  I'll  have 
der  law  on  him." 

"  Ha !  Maybe  you  don't  t'ink  my  son  good  enough 
for  your  daughter  ?  Eh  ?"  cried  Rosenheim,  in  mo- 
mentary forgetfulness  of  his  dignity. 

"  No,  sir-ee  !  He  ain'd  goot  enough  her  shoe-strings 
to  tie  !"  retorted  Bergthal,  in  a  passion. 

What  more  might  have  been  said  is  a  matter  of  con- 


The  Harmony  Club.  221 

jecture,  but  Bertha  had  providentially  come  into  the 
room.  She  was  sjill  clad  in  her  garb  of  Liberty  and 
looked  like  a  veritable  angel  of  peace. 

"  Come,  my  dear  friends,"  she  said,  taking  a  hand  of 
each,  "you  must  not  quarrel  here.  Don't  you  know 
that  everybody  is  talking  about  you  ?" 

They  became  calm  as  she  spoke,  in  her  sweet,  musical 
voice. 

"  Now  let  me  ask  you  a  question.  Mr.  Eosenheim, 
have  you  any  deep-seated  animosity  against  Mr.  Berg- 
thai  ?" 

"  I  ?  None  in  de  least.  I  have  nodding  against 
him.  I  tell  you  vot  it  is.  He's  jealous  of  my  business, 
dot's  all." 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Bergthal,  what  cause  have  you  to 
hate  Mr.  Rosenheim  ?" 

Bergthal  hung  his  head  sheepishly. 

"  I  don'd  got  nodding  against  him  personally.  He 
vos  a  goot  enough  man." 

"  Then  it's  simply  a  question  of  business  jealousy? 
You  both  esteem  each  other  personally.  Are  you  going 
to  let  this  matter  of  competition  poison  your  own  lives 
and  that  of  your  children  ?  Izzy  loves  Emma.  I've 
known  it  for  some  time.  They  won't  be  happy  without 
each  other.  Now,  Mr.  Bergthal,  answer  me.  Are  you 
going  to  sacrifice  Emma  because  Mr.  Rosenheim  has  the 
bigger  clothing  store  ?" 

"  Dot  ain'd  so.  Der  Mammoth  Cloding  Emporium 
does  der  biggest  bissness  on  der  street,  und  I  can  prove 
it." 

Rosenheim  laughed  a  sarcastic  laugh,  but  said  nothing. 


222  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Well,  granted  that  you  are  the  bigger  of  the  two," 
continued  Bertha,  "  can't  you  be  magnanimous  to  your 
competitor  and  be  friendly  with  him?  Come,  shake 
hands  and  be  friends." 

Rosenheim  readily  held  out  his  hand,  his  stout,  good- 
natured  face  beaming  with  benevolence.  Bergthal  was 
reluctant. 

"  I  vill  on  one  condition  make  up,"  he  said.  "  I 
don'd  vant  him  any  more  to  advertise  dot  he  does  der 
biggest  bissness,  begause  it  don'd  is  true." 

"  I  sold  twenty  t'ousand  dollars  last  year,"  said 
Rosenheim,  emphatically,  "  and  dot's  more  dan  you  sold." 

"  Dere  he  is  gommencing  again  !"  cried  Bergthal,  in 
growing  excitement. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  interposed  Bertha ;  "  this  is  not 
the  way  to  be  friends.  Mr.  Rosenheim,  for  the  sake  of 
your  son,  do  you  promise  me  not  to  push  your  claim  as 
being  greater  than  Mr.  Bergthal  ?" 

"  I  promise,"  replied  Rosenheim,  gravely. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Bergthal,  what  do  you  say  for  Emma's 
sake?" 

"  Dere  is  my  hand.     Shake  !"  said  Bergthal. 

Friendship  was  at  once  restored,  and,  while  the  erst- 
while foes  stood  chatting,  Bertha  diplomatically  went 
out  to  seek  Emma  and  her  lover.  She  found  them  in 
the  wardrobe,  cooing  as  though  no  irate  fathers  existed, 
and,  with  a  hurried  word  of  explanation,  brought  them 
into  the  presence  of  their  reconciled  parents. 

"  Now,  my  friends,"  said  Bertha,  "  crown  your  recon- 
ciliation with  a  paternal  blessing  on  these  two  turtle 
doves." 


The  Harmony  Club.  223 

"You  love  dot  young  scoundrel,  don'd  it?"  said 
Bergthal,  affably,  to  his  daughter. 

"  Yes,  papa." 

"  Und  he  loves  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Izzy,  timidly. 

"  Veil,  Rosenheim,  I'm  satisfied  to  der  match  if  you 
are.  Vot  do  you  say  ?" 

"  I  gif  dem  my  blessing,"  said  Mr.  Rosenheim. 
"  I've  known  it  vas  in  de  vind  for  some  time.  I  tell 
you  vot  it  is.  Love  may  be  blind,  but  odder  people 
usually  have  dere  eyes  open  and  know  vot's  going 
on.  I  tell  you,  love  vill  find  a  vay,  if  it  has  to  go 
around  behind  de  stage.  Vot  does  de  Talmud 
say?  Veil,  never  mind  vot  it  says;  it  means, 
voman  vas  made  after  man,  and  she's  been  after 
him  efer  since.  And  now,  my  children,  I  vish  you 
'Massael  tof,'  and  hope  dot  de  only  competition  be- 
tween you  vill  be  to  see  vich  can  make  de  odder 
de  happier." 

Here  Rosenheim  and  Bergthal  both  shed  tears  of  joy, 
and  went  out  arm  in  arm  to  find  their  wives  and  tell 
them  the  good  tidings. 

The  news  spread  rapidly,  and  the  happy  couple  and 
their  radiant  parents  were  soon  surrounded  by  enthusi- 
astic throngs,  all  eager  to  wish  them  joy.  Bergthal 
assured  his  friends  that  he  always  had  in  secret  the 
kindliest  feelings  toward  his  competitor,  and  that 
nothing  could  afford  him  greater  pleasure  than  this  alli- 
ance between  the  two  clothing  stores  which  were  hence- 
forth to  lead  the  world.  Rosenheim,  with  much  shak- 
ing of  his  round  head  and  of  his  plump  hands,  declared 


224  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

this  to  be  the  happiest  day  of  his  life,  for  "  Vot  does 
de  Talmud  say — " 

Before  the  proud  father  could  deliver  himself  of  his 
Talmud  quotation,  Mr.  Solomon  Basch  took  Izzy,  the 
future  groom,  aside,  and  gave  him  some  excellent  advice 
in  German  on  the  proper  attitude  towards  one's  wife. 

"  Most  men,"  he  said,  confidentially,  "  expect  to  have 
their  own  way  after  marriage,  but  their  wives  relieve 
their  minds  quickly  of  any  such  false  impression.  Give 
in  gracefully  to  your  wife  from  the  start.  You  will 
have  to  do  it  in  the  long  run,  anyhow.  I  would  like  to 
persuade  you,  my  young  friend,  to  stay  single,  but  I 
suppose  it's  too  late." 

"  Is  matrimony  so  terrible  ?"  asked  Izzy,  with  a 
twinkle,  for  he  knew  of  poor  Basch's  woes. 

"  Terrible  !"  repeated  Solomon.  "  I  read  the  other 
day  that  seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the  criminals  of  this 
country  are  bachelors.  Don't  that  prove  that  they'd 
rather  go  to  the  penitentiary  than  get  married  ?  You 
have  my  sympathy.  Any  time  you  want  advice,  I'll 
be  happy  to  give  it." 

And  Solomon  Basch  went  meekly  back  to  his  wife, 
who  berated  him  soundly  for  having  left  her  alone  with 
her  knitting. 

The  dancing  began,  and  Bertha  led  the  waltz  with 
Mr.  Ehrlich.  Dressed  in  her  light  apparel,  she  looked 
like  a  wood  nymph  as  she  glided  among  the  festoons  of 
evergreen,  and  Ehrlich,  tall,  handsome  and  happy,  made 
a  very  acceptable  Daphnis  at  her  side.  The  success  of 
the  wooing  of  Izzy  and  Emma  made  him  long  for  an 
equally  fortunate  realization  of  his  own  hopes.  Her 


The  Harmony  Club.  225 

pliant  form,  close  against  his  own,  his  arm  about  her 
graceful  waist,  her  breath  upon  his  cheek,  they  moved 
in  the  dreamy  mazes  of  the  waltz,  and  he  realized  as 
never  before  how  dear  she  had  grown  to  him — how  his 
whole  existence  was  bound  up  in  hers.  The  music, 
plaintive  as  the  cooing  of  a  dove,  answered  to  the  yearn- 
ings of  his  heart.  He  would  have  given  a  year  of  his 
life  to  have  had  her  soul  answer  his  own — to  have 
known  the  measure  of  her  love  for  him.  Her  beauty 
moved  him  as  did  sweet  and  luscious  music,  searching 
the  subtlest  emotions  of  his  soul  with  exquisite  harmo- 
nies. He  seemed  to  be  in  perfect  accord  with  her,  as 
though  the  vibrations  of  their  very  heart-beats  were  in 
unison. 

Surely  the  moment  was  a  propitious  one  for  declar- 
ing his  love  and  winning  her  promise,  and  yet  he  hesi- 
tated and  delayed.  Fatal  delay  !  He  thought  Bertha 
too  lively,  too  animated,  too  filled  with  the  sense  of 
her  triumphs  on  this  evening  to  be  approached  on  a 
subject  of  such  vital  importance.  He  would  wait  for  a 
more  favorable  opportunity — for  an  unmistakable  sign 
from  her  that  she  wanted  him  to  speak.  A  dozen  names 
were  on  her  programme ;  she  was  courted,  made  much  of. 
It  was  an  inopportune  time  to  advance  his  claims. 
What  was  he  that  he  should  aspire  to  so  much  grace, 
beauty  and  loveliness?  And  so,  while  he  conversed 
brilliantly  with  Bertha  on  interesting  topics,  and  she 
laughingly  replied,  his  brain  was  in  a  tumult  and  his 
heart  beat  with  a  violent  passion,  but  no  word  of  love 
escaped  him. 

Mr.  Kern  was  Bertha's  next  partner,  and  he,  too,  was 
15 


226  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

consuming  his  heart  with  love  for  her.  He  spoke  little, 
but  his  every  glance  was  the  expression  of  adoration. 
It  is  strange,  but  nevertheless  true,  that  Bertha  had  as 
yet  no  just  conception  of  the  strength  of  Kern's  affec- 
tion for  her.  She  liked  the  quiet,  reserved,  unexcep- 
tional young  man,  with  his  blonde  hair  and  honest 
blue  eyes.  She  appreciated  his  attentions,  but  she 
never  realized  the  agitating  hopes  that  her  slightest 
smile  called  into  life.  The  love-sick  young  man  could 
see  no  obstacles  to  his  union  with  Bertha.  His  own  love 
promised  a  guarantee  for  hers,  and  he,  like  his  uncon- 
scious rival,  Ehrlich,  only  awaited  a  fitting  opportunity 
to  throw  himself  at  her  feet.  But  although  Bertha  had 
no  objections  to  being  adored,  the  thought  that  a  Gentile 
was  making  himself  miserable  for  her  sake,  a  Jewess, 
would  have  caused  her  to  break  off  an  attachment 
which  could  only  end  in  disappointment,  if  nothing 
worse. 

Bertha  was  supremely  happy,  and  as  dance  followed 
dance  she  floated  in  a  heaven  of  delight.  Surrounded 
by  her  smiling  young  friends,  set  off  by  radiant  light 
and  color,  and  moving  rhythmically  to  exquisite  music, 
she  resembled,  indeed,  a  Calypso  among  her  nymphs. 
The  dance  ended,  alas !  too  soon.  The  old  folks  had 
long  since  disappeared  in  couples,  leaving  the  floor  to 
the  younger  generation,  and  at  length  these,  too,  turned 
homewards. 

Before  leaving,  Emma  Bergthal  kissed  Bertha  grate- 
fully. 

"  Thanks  to  you,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very, 
very  happy." 


They  walked  home  together. 


The  Harmony  Club.  227 

"And  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart,"  said 
Bertha. 

"  When  may  I  congratulate  you  upon  a  similar  happi- 
ness ?  "  asked  Emma,  archly. 

Both  Ehrlich  and  Kern  would  have  gladly  answered 
"  Now  "  but  for  the  restraining  presence  of  the  other. 

Bertha  laughed  lightly. 

"Oh,  I'm  in  no  hurry,"  she  said. 

"  But  you  must  marry  some  time,"  insisted  Emma. 

"I  suppose  so.  It  is  unfortunate  that  we  girls 
must  either  marry  or  remain  old  maids.  What  a  ter- 
rible alternative  ! "  said  Bertha,  gaily. 

"Is  the  thought  of  matrimony  so  awful  to  you?" 
asked  Ehrlich,  with  a  ray  of  hope. 

"  Horrible  ! "  replied  Bertha,  tragically.  "  It  is  a 
thing  to  be  fostered  in  others.  But  as  to  myself — brr! 
If  matrimony  is  not  always  a  failure,  it  is  frequently 
but  a  source  of  compromise,  and  therefore  but  a  poor 
exchange  for  single  blessedness." 

Bertha  laughed  merrily  as  she  uttered  these  sage 
remarks,  which  might  have  come  more  appropriately 
from  Solomon  Basch ;  but  to  Ehrlich  they  sounded 
like  the  knell  of  his  fondest  hopes;  and  Kern,  too, 
felt  his  spirits  sink  and  his  chances  for  happiness 
diminish. 

They  walked  home  together,  Ehrlich  on  one  side  and 
Kern  on  the  other  of  their  divinity,  the  young  men  taci- 
turn, the  girl  overflowing  with  animation  and  spirits. 
It  was  the  final  tableau  of  the  evening,  and  might  have 
been  entitled  "  Love,  the  Connecting  Link  between  Dif- 
fering Creeds." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE   THRESHOLD. 

"  There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  all  the  creeds." — Tennyson. 

FATHER  KELLY  sat  in  his  cheerful  library,  writing 
a  sermon.  It  was  a  forceful  text,  taken  from  the  third 
chapter  of  St.  John :  "  He  that  believeth  on  him  is  not 
condemned;  but  he  that  believeth  not  is  condemned 
already."  It  was  divided  into  two  parts,  "The  Blessed" 
and  "  The  Accursed."  The  glories  of  heaven,  the  eternal 
hallelujahs  of  the  angel  choir,  the  dazzling  resplendence 
of  God's  throne,  were  set  off  in  striking  contrast  to  the 
anguish  which  awaited  the  rejected.  It  was  a  sermon 
calculated  to  stir  the  latent  enthusiasm  of  his  flock  and 
set  them  squarely  upon  the  path  of  salvation.  Woe  to 
the  infidel !  God,  in  his  mercy,  which  passeth  human 
understanding,  had  an  unlimited  supply  of  wrath  for 
the  obdurate  wretch  who  denied  his  only  begotten  Son. 
A  hardened  skeptic  might  not  have  found  much  logic  in 
its  arguments;  but  as  the  priest  read  it,  with  appro- 
priate gestures,  he  imbued  it  with  the  magnetism  of 
absolute  conviction,  with  the  positive  assurance  of  the 
reality  of  the  contrasted  pictures. 

While  Father  Kelly  was  thus  occupied  the  bell  rang, 
and  Mr.  Isaac  Schwartz  was  announced. 

228 


The  Threshold.  229 

"If  there  is  one  man  who  deserves  to  escape  the 
eternal  torments,"  said  the  priest  to  himself,  "  it  is  this 
Jew.  He  is  undeniably  a  noble  man.  Alas  !  even  he 
will  suffer  with  the  guilty,  unless  he  repents  in  time  and 
accepts  the  Redeemer." 

"How  are  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Schwartz?"  was  his 
cordial  greeting. 

"  Nothing  to  boast  of,  your  reverence.  I  have  been 
quite  ill." 

Indeed,  Isaac's  face  was  bloodless,  and  the  deep 
wrinkles  on  his  forehead  denoted  great  mental  suffering. 

The  priest  expressed  his  solicitude,  after  which  a 
pause  ensued,  each  being  too  much  occupied  with  his 
own  thoughts  to  break  in  upon  the  other's  silence. 

"  Father  Kelly,"  at  length  began  Isaac,  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  suppressed  emotion,  "I  have  come  to 
hear  more  about  your  religion." 

The  priest's  face  became  radiant  with  pious  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  Not  to  become  a  convert,"  added  the  other,  hastily, 
watching  the  priest's  countenance.  "  Merely  to  draw 
comparisons  between  your  faith  and  my  own.  I  confess 
that  while  your  doctrine  appears  absurd,  it  interests  me, 
nevertheless." 

"You  will  find  it  truth  incarnate,  a  crystallization  of 
God's  wisdom,  consoling  and  comforting  to  the  suffer- 
ing soul." 

"  Can  your  creed  secure  peace  of  conscience  to  the 
guilty?" 

"  That  it  can,  and  absolution  from  his  sins." 

"Convince  me  of  what  you  say,  and  perhaps — " 


230  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

He  did  not  finish,  for  the  words  stuck  in  his  throat ; 
but  the  priest  understood  him. 

Here  was  the  long  waited-for  opportunity  of  saving 
a  soul,  of  rescuing  a  victim  from  Satan's  clutches,  of 
leading  a  sheep  to  Christ's  fold.  The  priest  cast  his 
eyes  towards  heaven,  as  if  in  gratitude  for  the  oppor- 
tunity, and  in  supplication  for  strength  to  fulfill  his 
important  mission.  Then  he  considered  how  best  to 
initiate  this  unbelieving  soul  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
church.  It  was  a  delicate  task,  and  Father  Kelly  felt 
his  airworthiness ;  but  he  was  imbued  with  the  enthu- 
siasm of  faith,  without  which  no  work,  secular  or  holy, 
can  thrive.  Having  finally  determined  upon  a  course 
of  action,  he  set  out  upon  his  task  without  delay,  and 
taking  his  Testament  in  hand,  read  through  portions  of 
the  Gospels,  explaining  and  amplifying  the  text  in  his 
own  words.  Strange  and  incredible  it  all  seemed  to  Isaac. 
A  Jew's  mind,  trained  for  centuries  to  delve  through 
musty  parchments,  through  hair-splitting  arguments 
and  knotty  points  of  law,  finds  analysis  its  legitimate 
field,  and  takes  nothing  for  granted  that  is  not  sus- 
ceptible of  being  weighed  in  the  scales  of  reason. 
Schwartz's  analytical  brain  could  not  absorb  this  new 
doctrine  without  expressing  doubts  and  displaying  a 
natural  incredulity.  The  priest,  seeing  this,  requested 
him  to  ask  any  questions  that  might  arise  in  his 
mind.  Isaac  checked  the  queries  which  suggested 
themselves.  Time  enough  for  questions  later  on,  he 
thought.  For  the  present  he  wanted  to  grasp  the  gen- 
eral outlines  of  this  strange  religion,  which  to  him 
meant  agony  and  despair,  or  peace  of  conscience  and 


The  Threshold.  231 

repose  of  soul.  He  drank  in  every  word  the  priest 
uttered,  and  fixed  it  indelibly  upon  his  mind.  When 
Father  Kelly  had  finished  his  lesson  it  was  quite  late, 
and  Isaac  arose  to  go. 

"  May  I  ask  your  opinion  on  what  you  have  heard 
to-day?"  said  the  priest.  "Have  my  humble  efforts 
met  with  some  measure  of  success  ?  " 

Isaac  shook  his  head  in  doubt. 

"  In  all  you  have  told  me,"  he  said,  "  I  see  but  a 
touching  story  of  a  Jew  who  rose  above  his  profane 
surroundings,  and  by  teaching  gentleness  and  humanity, 
the  true  doctrine  of  Moses,  collected  a  number  of  inter- 
ested disciples  about  him.  He  gave  up  his  life  upon 
the  cross,  as  many  a  political  offender  did  in  his  day, 
when  crucifixion  was  in  vogue,  instead  of  hanging  or 
guillotining.  There  is  nothing  in  all  that  you  have 
told  me  so  far  that  carries  with  it  proof  that  Christ  was 
the  true  Messiah." 

"  But  consider  His  divine  conception  and  birth,  His 
divine  mission,"  cried  the  priest. 

"Is  that  susceptible  of  proof?  If  so,  convince  me 
of  it.  As  a  Jew,  I  have  been  taught  a  certain  religion, 
in  which  I  placed  implicit  belief.  There  came  a  time 
when  I  examined  the  details  of  my  creed  with  a 
critical  eye,  and  found  that  many  of  its  doctrines 
were  absurd,  irrational  —  foreign  ideas,  which  were 
in  the  course  of  time  engrafted  upon  the  primitive 
faith.  I  have  rejected  such  ideas  as  incompatible 
with  rational  Judaism.  I  find  that  I  am  still  a 
Jew.  My  belief  in  one  God,  and  my  observance  of 
the  humane  and  wise  laws  of  Moses,  make  me  a  Jew, 


232  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

even  though  I  refuse  to  observe  many  of  the  ceremo- 
nies of  my  fathers." 

"  To  be  a  good  Jew,"  interposed  the  priest,  "  is  the 
first  step  towards  being  a  good  Catholic." 

"  I  agree  with  you.  To  be  a  good  man  is  the  founda- 
tion of  any  religion ;  but  to  be  a  good  Catholic,  I  must 
believe  in  the  divinity  of  Christ.  Prove  to  me  beyond 
a  doubt  that  Jesus  was  more  than  human,  that  He  was, 
in  truth,  the  Son  of  God,  with  power  to  absolve  from 
sin  and  to  insure  happiness  hereafter,  and  I  will  devote 
myself,  heart  and  soul,  to  your  church." 

"  I  will  prove  it,"  said  the  priest,  with  joyful  con- 
viction. 

"  How  ?" 

"  By  the  Scriptures  themselves,  by  the  words  of  the 
prophets  in  whom  you  believe,  and  by  the  testimony  of 
the  thousands  who  have  found  redemption  in  Christ." 

"So  be  it.  I  will  eome  again  to-morrow ;  but  I 
warn  you,  you  will  have  to  combat  the  prejudices,  the 
convictions,  the  beliefs  of  years.  You  will  have  to 
undo  the  results  of  a  thorough  training  in  certain  reli- 
gious grooves  and  teach  my  heart  to  reverence  what  it 
has  heretofore  doubted.  It  is  a  difficult  task,  Father 
Kelly." 

"God  will  inspire  me,"  was  the  answer.  "Christ 
will  help  me  to  glorify  His  name.  I  accept  the  mission, 
and  will  carry  it  to  a  successful  issue." 

Isaac's  mind  was  in  a  turmoil  when  he  left  the  priest. 
His  enthusiasm  for  the  new  creed  seemed  to  wane  before 
it  was  well  developed.  All  that  he  had  heard  appeared 
to  him  but  the  invention  of  finite  man,  a  grafting  of 


The  Threshold.  233 

heathen  myth  on  Hebrew  lore.  He  failed  to  discover 
an  atom  of  comfort  in  the  incomprehensible  doctrine. 
It  was  too  ideal,  and  held  no  solace  for  the  actual  which 
was  gnawing  at  his  heart.  Through  this  mystic  tale  of 
a  Saviour  of  souls  and  a  Redeemer  from  sin,  he  seemed 
to  hear  the  "  Hep !  hep  !"  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  see 
the  yellow  badge  of  persecution.  The  martyrdom  of  the 
Jews,  at  the  instigation  of  missionaries  and  in  the  name 
of  this  creed,  arose  before  him  and  drove  the  blood 
surging  through  his  brain. 

The  thought  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  learn  from 
books,  find  consolation  in  the  writings  of  theologians ;  for 
he  feared  to  trust  his  own  confused  powers  of  reasoning. 

On  his  way  home,  therefore,  he  stopped  at  a  book 
store  and  bought  a  promiscuous  collection  of  volumes. 
There  was,  first  of  all,  a  Bible,  containing  both  Testa- 
ments— an  English  edition — with  an  allusion  to  the 
Messiah  at  the  head  of  every  column  to  which  it  could 
possibly  be  applied ;  there  were  several  Commentaries 
on  the  Bible,  in  which  the  Scriptures  were  considerably 
improved  and  amplified  ;  there  was  an  illustrated  folio 
on  the  life  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  by  the  Abbe  Orsini ; 
there  were  also  a  number  of  tomes  by  ancient  ecclesias- 
tical writers ;  a  translation  of  Bulanger's  "  Life  of  St. 
Paul ;"  a  "  Life  of  Jesus,"  by  a  German  free-thinker,  and, 
finally,  several  volumes  of  sermons  by  Protestant  min- 
isters, in  which,  as  he  found  later,  the  Catholic  Church 
was  unmercifully  condemned  as  anti-Christian.  This 
diversified  collection  of  books  was  sent  by  wagon  to 
Isaac's  house,  and  the  harassed  Israelite  drove  away 
remorse  for  one  night,  at  least,  by  locking  himself  in  his 


234  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

room,  perusing  his  new  library,  and  increasing  his  doubt 
and  uncertainty,  until  he  fell  asleep  from  sheer  mental 
exhaustion. 

While  he  was  thus  profitably  employed,  August  Kern 
had  put  on  his  best  raiment  and  had  called  at  the 
Schwartz  mansion  to  see  Bertha.  This  young  lady 
received  him  with  her  customary  affability.  Lena,  too, 
was  particularly  attentive  on  this  occasion.  Contrary  to 
her  custom,  she  remained  obstinately  in  the  parlor  and 
took  a  more  than  usual  interest  in  the  conversation. 
Her  repeated  attempts  to  open  her  husband's  eyes  to  the 
intimacy  between  his  sister  and  their  neighbor  had 
remained  futile.  He  was  too  deeply  engrossed  in  his 
own  psychological  and  religious  problems  to  pay  the 
least  attention  to  her  seemingly  absurd  ideas,  and  Lena, 
apprehensive  of  the  result  of  this  ill-assorted  friendship, 
determined  to  keep  the  two  apart  as  much  as  possible. 

She  hesitated  about  speaking  to  Bertha  on  the  subject, 
knowing  from  experience  in  her  own  love  affair  with 
Isaac  that  opposition  often  served  to  strengthen  the 
inclination  where  it  had  taken  root,  and  to  create  it 
where  it  did  not  already  exist.  She  made  up  her  mind, 
therefore,  that  no  blame  should  attach  to  her,  and 
henceforth  considered  it  her  duty  to  throw  every  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  further  companionship  between  them. 
She  could  not  well  forbid  Mr.  Kern  the  house,  but  she 
would  see  to  it  that  this  friendship  did  not  ripen  into 
matrimony. 

Lena  therefore  sacrificed  her  evening  on  the  altar  of 
duty,  and  August  sat  on  pins  and  needles  (metaphori- 
cally speaking)  during  three  long  hours. 


The  Threshold.  235 

"  Perhaps  she  will  soon  retire,"  he  thought ;  but  she 
remained  steadfastly  at  her  post.  The  conversation  ran 
through  the  entire  gamut  of  topics,  from  the  weather  to 
the  latest  political  news.  At  first  it  was  animated,  then 
it  dragged,  and  finally  it  languished  altogether.  The 
success  of  the  Harmony  entertainment  furnished  a  sub- 
ject for  pleasant  discussion,  lasting  almost  an  hour ;  but 
even  that  grew  monotonous  at  last. 

Lena  yawned,  but  did  not  betray  her  trust.  Bertha 
thought  she  had  never  spent  so  long  and  dreary  an 
evening.  August,  having  sought  in  vain  for  a  pretext 
to  remain  longer,  arose  to  leave,  and  Lena,  with  con- 
summate ability,  related,  en  passant,  that  Bertha  would 
be  occupied  during  every  evening  of  the  week.  To- 
morrow they  would  be  at  Franzman's,  the  next  day 
they  were  invited  to  Kauffman's,  and  so  on.  It  was  a 
polite  but  unmistakable  way  of  informing  the  young 
man  that,  for  a  week  at  least,  his  company  might  be 
dispensed  with. 

In  the  morning  Lena  again  imparted  her  fears  to  her 
husband.  A  man  who  has  been  all  night  in  the  com- 
pany of  ecclesiasts,  who  has  endeavored  to  digest  the 
miracles  and  parables  of  the  New  Testament,  is  not 
the  proper  person  to  approach  on  so  trivial  a  subject  as 
matrimony.  He  was  in  a  state  of  irritation,  bordering 
on  hysteria. 

"You  probably  exaggerate,"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"You  mistake  Kern's  friendship  for  something  more 
serious." 

"  Well,  you  will  see  when  it  is  too  late.  You  will  have 
yourself  to  thank  for  it,  if  Bertha  marries  a  Catholic." 


236  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Marries  a  Catholic !"  cried  Isaac,  in  a  passion,  but 
he  suddenly  checked  his  anger.  "  "Well,  why  not  ?"  he 
reflected. 

Was  he  not  himself  considering  the  advisability  of 
becoming  a  convert  to  Christianity,  and  with  him  his 
family  would  have  to  embrace  the  new  faith?  His 
head  swam  at  the  strange  idea,  and  he  staggered  for  a 
moment  like  a  drunkard.  He  had  not  yet  considered 
Lena  and  the  children  in  this  connection. 

"  Don't  worry,  Lena,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  he  had  time  to  master  his  riotous  thoughts.  "  If 
Kern  persists  in  his  attentions,  we  must  give  him  a  hint 
to  remain  away." 

"  You  would  not  consent  to  your  sister  marrying  a 
Gentile?" 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?  Never!"  he  cried, 
passionately ;  then,  recollecting  himself,  he  added  : 
"There,  we  will  talk  no  more  about  it.  Bertha  will 
know  how  to  act.  I  am  going  out,  dear,  on  a  matter 
of  importance,  and  may  not  be  home  until  dinner." 

Isaac's  matter  of  importance  led  him  to  Father 
Kelly's.  Vague  recollections  of  Israel's  pathetic  history 
and  unmerited  sorrows  arose  within  him  as  he  walked 
along.  He  thought  of  a  paragraph  he  had  but  recently 
read  which  had  awakened  such  a  sympathetic  chord  that 
he  had  memorized  it.  "  If  there  are  ranks  in  suffering, 
Israel  takes  precedence  of  all  nations ;  if  the  duration 
of  sorrows  ennobles,  the  Jews  are  among  the  aristocracy 
of  every  land."  And  he  contemplated  throwing  off  his 
rank  and  glory — for  what  ? 

Once  he  was  on  the  point  of  turning  back,  but  his 


The  Threshold.  237 

cowardice  of  conscience  drove  him  on.  He  was  like  a 
man  under  hypnotic  influence,  drawn  on  by  the  sugges- 
tion of  his  own  accusing  soul. 

The  priest  received  him  with  open  arms,  and  intro- 
duced him  to  Bishop  Keane,  who  had  apparently 
dropped  in  casually  to  see  his  friend.  The  presence  of 
the  bishop,  however,  was  by  no  means  an  accident.  He 
had  been  apprised  of  the  Jew's  researches  after  higher 
knowledge,  and  was  present  to  help  land  this  valuable 
fish  which  swam  voluntarily  into  the  net  of  the  holy 
church. 

A  wonderful  man  was  Bishop  Keane.  During  his 

thirty  years'  service  in  the  diocese  of  B he  had 

gained  the  sincere  love  of  every  member  of  his  flock. 
His  open,  benevolent  face,  crowned  by  a  high  intel- 
lectual forehead  and  closely-cropped  gray  hair,  seemed 
perpetually  beaming  with  benevolence,  spiritual  joy  and 
good  will  to  all  mankind.  He  was  a  man  of  thorough 
education  and  of  liberal  ideas,  and  while  he  was  heart 
and  soul  in  unison  with  the  doctrines  of  his  church, 
still  there  lurked  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  a  well- 
defined  hope  that  God  might  have  happiness  in  store 
even  for  adherents  of  other  faiths.  In  his  devotions  he 
was  zealous  and  sincere,  but  by  no  means  fanatic.  His 
love  for  the  human  family,  and  compassion  for  their 
weaknesses,  made  him  tolerant  toward  those  who  had 
not  yet  discovered  divine  truth. 

Isaac  Schwartz  hardly  found  himself  in  the  society 
of  this  worthy  prelate  before  he  felt  something  akin  to 
love  for  him.  Father  Kelly  rehearsed  in  a  few  words 
the  progress  made,  and  Bishop  Keane  took  up  the 


238  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

thread  of  religious  instruction  from  the  point  where  it 
had  been  broken  off. 

What  an  eloquent  man  the  bishop  was  !  How  ably 
he  handled  the  subject !  What  a  diviner  of  human 
motives  and  passions  !  Before  they  had  been  together 
half  an  hour,  he  discovered,  firstly,  that  Isaac  sought 
out  the  church  for  her  ability  to  absolve  from  sin; 
secondly,  that  there  was  a  particular  sin  to  be  atoned 
for ;  thirdly,  that  Isaac  had  committed  that  sin,  and, 
fourthly,  that  it  must  be  a  serious  crime  that  could 
drive  a  Jew  from  the  faith  of  Abraham.  All  this  he 
had  learned,  not  by  questioning  the  neophyte,  but  by 
the  questions  Isaac  put  to  him. 

With  consummate  ability,  the  bishop  spoke  of  the 
doctrine  of  vicarious  atonement,  of  the  love  of  God, 
who  had  sent  his  only  begotten  Son  upon  earth  to  wash 
away  man's  guilt.  There  was  no  power  inherent,  he 
said,  in  man  to  atone  for  his  own  evil  deeds.  The  Son  of 
God  had  suffered  and  was  crucified ;  the  Father's  wrath 
was  thereby  appeased,  and  henceforth  all  those  who  be- 
lieved in  the  Saviour  would  be  absolved  from  the  ter- 
rors of  purgatory  and  find  peace  eternal. 

This  was  the  substance  of  the  bishop's  arguments. 
It  was  so  earnestly,  so  enthusiastically,  presented,  that 
Isaac  felt  ashamed  to  ask  the  questions  which  hovered 
on  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  He  would  have  liked  to  ask 
why  God  could  not  revoke  his  damnation  edict  as 
easily  as  he  had  decreed  it ;  why,  having  created  origi- 
nal sin,  he  did  not  simply  drive  it  out  again  ;  why  he 
had  not  made  man  as  prone  to  do  good  as  he  is  to  do 
evil ;  why,  if  Jesus  was  the  Son  of  God,  he  had  not 


The  Threshold.  239 

announced  the  fact  in  such  unmistakable  terms  that  the 
whole  world  would  know  it  beyond  peradventure.  He 
felt  it  would  be  sacrilege  to  ask  all  this  in  the  face  of 
the  bishop's  eloquence,  especially  as  the  prelate  began 
to  apply  the  doctrine  of  vicarious  atonement  to  Isaac's 
individual  case. 

"We  will  take  it  for  granted  that  you  have  com- 
mitted a  wrong,  as  which  human  being  has  not  ?  Men 
may  persecute  you  and  punish  you,  but  is  there  no 
satisfaction  in  knowing  that  God  has  forgiven — that  the 
Lord  is  more  merciful  than  man  ?  He  can  read  your 
heart,  and  knows  what  a  sway  original  sin  has  there. 
And  Christ  is  ever  at  God's  side,  whispering,  '  Forgive 
him,  Father ;  for  such  have  I  suffered  and  died.' " 

Isaac,  in  spite  of  his  doubts  and  prejudices,  felt  his 
heart  swell  at  the  thought  of  such  a  pardon.  Oh,  that 
he  could  feel  that  it  was  really  true  ! 

Ct  But,"  he  asked,  suddenly  struck  by  an  idea,  "  if 
God  has  forgiven  the  repentant  sinner,  what  right  has 
the  State  to  punish  him  ?" 

"  Punishment,"  replied  the  priest,  "  is  necessary  to 
prevent  the  growth  of  crime.  Our  faith  concerns  itself 
only  with  the  salvation  of  the  soul  and  happiness  after 
death." 

Then  the  bishop  skillfully  drew  a  contrast  between 
the  terrors  of  hell  and  the  glories  of  heaven ;  a  mild 
contrast,  because  he  did  not  want  to  frighten  Isaac  at 
the  outset. 

"  Can  you  hesitate  in  choosing  between  the  two  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  But  how  can  I  find  such  happiness  ?" 


240  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  By  belief  in  Him,  the  Crucified." 
"  Still  that  word  '  belief.'     I  can  only  believe  what  I 
know  for  a  certainty  to  be  true.     Your  proofs !"  he 
cried,  passionately.     "  You  must  prove  to  me  the  divine 
origin  and  mission  of  your  Saviour.     Remember  that  a 
wide,  almost  impassable,  gulf  separates  your  mode  of 
thinking  from  mine.     You  have  been  educated  to  your 
belief,  and  it  would  be  difficult  for   you  to  throw  it 
aside.     I,  on  the  contrary,  have  been  brought  up  to  a 
belief  diametrically  opposed   to   yours.     The  Jew  has 
been  taught  to  loathe  the  Christian  religion.     Eighteen 
centuries  of  persecution  have  led  him  to  see  but  the  worst, 
the  most  hideously  cruel  and  inconsistent  features  of 
your  creed.     We  have  been  branded  slayers  of  God,  as 
though  it  were  possible  for  a  man  to  slay  his  Creator. 
And   now  you   say,  'Believe  in  one  you  have   been 
so  long  taught  to   deny.'      You  surely  possess  proof 
of  His  divinity.     Give  me  this  proof  and  I  will  be- 
lieve." 

With  a  zeal  born  of  love  for  their  undertaking,  the 
priests  began  their  difficult  task.  The  conversation 
occupied  the  greater  part  of  the  morning,  and  Isaac, 
who  was  reminded  of  other  duties,  left  Father  Kelly's 
house,  with  a  promise  to  renew  his  visit  next  day. 

He  was  in  a  profound  reverie  as  he  walked  home- 
ward. Once  out  of  the  presence  of  these  priests,  the 
beautiful  structure  they  had  so  laboriously  reared 
seemed  to  fall  together  about  his  ears.  Doubts,  doubts, 
doubts  !  They  assailed  him  from  every  quarter.  After 
all  they  had  told  him,  they  had  given  him  no  proof  of 
its  truth.  They  had  interpreted  various  portions  of  the 


The  Threshold.  241 

Scriptures  to  suit  their  own  ends.  Rabbi  Kauffman 
had  in  his  sermons  interpreted  many  of  these  passages 
to  mean  something  entirely  different — something  strictly 
Jewish. 

Isaac's  mind  was  a  prey  to  conflicting  ideas.  He  must 
have  positive  assurance — perhaps  he  could  find  it  in  his 
books.  Forgotten  were  his  business,  his  speculations, 
his  charities.  He  locked  himself  up  in  his  room,  and 
devoted  his  afternoon  to  study.  Lena,  seeing  in  this 
strange  seclusion  but  another  symptom  of  his  dreaded 
disease,  refrained  from  disturbing  him,  but  attended  to 
her  household  duties  with  a  heavy  heart. 

The  bishop  and  Father  Kelly  continued  their  instruc- 
tions next  morning.  A  serious  question  had  arisen  in 
Isaac's  mind  during  the  night.  Why  should  a  repent- 
ant sinner  who  believed  be  so  sure  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  while  an  upright  man  who  refused  to  believe 
should  be  forever  damned  ?  The  doctrine  was  contrary 
to  all  ideas  of  justice. 

"Human  justice  differs  from  divine  justice,"  replied 
the  bishop. 

Then  he  repeated  the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son. 
Isaac  listened  attentively,  but  could  not  repress  a  smile 
at  the  strange  moral. 

"We  believe,"  said  the  priest,  "that  the  angels  in 
heaven  experience  more  joy  over  one  sinner  that  repents 
than  over  ninety-nine  that  need  no  repentance." 

Isaac  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"  Is  that  a  doctrine  of  your  church  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  sublime." 

"  Then  I,  who  have  sinned  and  repent,  am  theoretic- 
16 


242  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

ally  better  in  the  eyes  of  the  heavenly  hosts  than  if  I 
had  never  done  wrong  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  repent  through  Christ." 

"  Your  reverence/'  said  Isaac,  earnestly,  "  let  me 
understand  you  beyond  the  possibility  of  a  mistake. 
My  life  and  happiness  are  in  the  balance,  and  I  do  not 
wish  to  pin  my  faith  to  a  misapprehension.  If  I  had 
remained  righteous  and  had  committed  no  crime,  I 
would  not  afford  the  Lord  as  much  pleasure  and  satis- 
faction as  I  do  at  present,  since  I  have  sinned  and  re- 
pented." 

"  Yes,  if  you  repent,  believing  in  Christ,"  answered 
the  priest. 

"  Even  if  my  crime  is  that  of  murder  ?  " 

"  Even  then.  There  is  no  sin  which  the  Saviour 
does  not  wipe  out  with  his  blood." 

"  I  cannot  understand  it,"  replied  Isaac,  dejectedly. 
"  It  is  all  so  contrary  to  human  ideas  of  right  and  jus- 
tice." 

"  You  do  not  view  the  matter  with  the  eyes  of  faith," 
said  the  bishop,  encouragingly.  "Once  be  baptized, 
and  you  will  see  it  in  its  true  and  wonderful  light." 

The  subject  offered  a  fruitful  source  of  discussion  for 
the  rest  of  the  morning ;  but,  in  spite  of  the  religious 
conviction  of  the  bishop  and  the  glowing  enthusiasm 
of  the  priest,  Isaac's  mind  still  refused  to  perceive  the 
truth,  which  was  so  very  evident  to  his  instructors. 

When  the  Jew  had  departed,  the  prelates  remained 
together  in  earnest  consultation. 

"  One  thing  is  evident,"  said  the  bishop.  "  Schwartz 
has  committed  some  crime  little  short  of  murder.  It  is 


The  Threshold.  243 

not  love  for  our  religion,  but  remorse  and  an  accusing 
conscience  which  is  urging  him  to  us,  in  hopes  of  find- 
ing consolation,  which  his  own  religion  is  incapable  of 
giving." 

"  Oh,  if  God  were  to  touch  his  heart ! "  replied  the 
priest,  with  uplifted  eyes.  "If  the  love  of  Christ 
would  but  enter  his  soul ! " 

"  How  blessed  it  is,"  said  Bishop  Keane,  "  to  bring 
one  soul  back  from  the  precipice  over  which  it  is  madly 
plunging,  and  to  lead  it  to  eternal  happiness !  I  will 
not  rest  until  I  have  accomplished  the  conversion  of 
this  man,  and  we  will  make  it  a  condition  of  his  accept- 
ance that  his  wife  and  children  be  also  baptized." 

"I  think  we  may  count  upon  a  speedy  victory," 
replied  Father  Kelly ;  and  the  friends  separated. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE   STRUGGLE. 

"  Your  learning,  like  the  lunar  beam,  affords 
Light,  but  not  heat.    It  leaves  you  undevout, 
Frozen  at  heart,  while  speculation  shines." — Young. 

As  soon  as  Isaac  reached  the  street  his  indecision 
again  mastered  him.  The  enormity  of  his  undertaking, 
of  his  contemplated  crime,  arose  before  his  mind's  eye ; 
for  was  it  not  a  crime  to  abjure  his  religion  for  that  of 
his  adversaries  ?  He  did  not  return  at  once  to  his 
house,  but  walked  out  into  the  suburbs,  where  he  could 
think  and  reflect  undisturbed,  under  the  blue  canopy  of 
heaven. 

It  was  a  bright  day,  warm  for  that  season  of  the  year 
— one  of  those  delightful  days  of  "  Indian  Summer." 
There  had  been  no  rain  for  several  weeks,  and  the  road 
was  dusty.  The  grass  still  looked  fresh  and  green,  but 
the  trees  that  bordered  the  road  and  the  bushes  that 
grew  along  the  path  were  turning  sere  and  yellow, 
giving  unmistakable  evidence  of  the  coming  of  winter. 
The  wild-flowers  had  long  since  faded,  and  the  sweet 
season  of  hope  seemed  to  have  died  with  them. 

The  golden  sunlight  lay  across  the  road,  but  Schwartz 
did  not  observe  it.  There  was  a  chill  in  his  breast,  as 
though  winter  were  already  there,  with  its  frost  and 

244 


The  Struggle.  245 

desolation.  It  seemed  long,  long  since  he  had  known 
the  summer  of  contentment,  the  sunshine  of  happiness. 

As  he  strode  along,  unmindful  of  the  beauties  of  the 
scene,  his  brain  was  busy  with  a  serious  train  of  thought. 

"  Believe  in  Christ?"  he  muttered.  "  Can  I  believe 
in  him?  Does  not  every  fibre  in  me  cry  out  against 
this  apostasy  ?  Did  not  Jehovah  proclaim,  1 1  am  the 
Lord  thy  God ;  thou  shalt  not  have  other  gods  before 
me'?  And  shall  I  now  deny  my  ancient  faith,  the 
holy  law,  the  glorious  belief  in  an  only  God,  the  love 
of  my  race,  and  bow  before  this  deity  of  the  Chris- 
tians? Shall  I  trample  under  foot  my  home,  my 
family,  my  nationality,  the  thousand  ceremonials  which 
are  still  dear  to  me,  and  seek  admittance  to  a  creed 
which  has  for  eighteen  hundred  years  oppressed  and 
maltreated  my  people  ?  Shall  I  foreswear  the  religion 
which  I  have  sucked  in  with  my  mother's  milk,  which 
I  have  learned  from  my  parents'  lips,  and  which  I 
have  in  turn  taught  my  children — a  religion  which  God 
himself  proclaimed  from  Sinai,  and  which  to-day  forms 
the  foundation  of  all  social  welfare  ?  Shall  I  throw 
aside  my  Judaism,  and  supplant  it  with  a  religion  born 
but  yesterday,  and  whose  dogmas  I  find  it  difficult  to 
understand  ?  Shall  I  deny  my  God,  and  in  his  stead 
worship  a  man  of  my  own  race,  a  persecuted  and  cruci- 
fied Hebrew  ?  No,  it  can  never  be !  It  was  but  an 
idle  dream.  The  power  I  worship  is  the  God  of  my 
ancestors,  omnipotent  Jehovah,  who  created  this  glo- 
rious world,  who  made  a  covenant  with  Abraham,  who 
led  the  children  of  Israel  out  of  Egypt,  and  gave  the 
Ten  Commandments  from  Mount  Sinai.  Such  a  great 


246  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

God  need  not  come  to  earth  to  die  in  human  form. 
Such  a  God  can  forgive  his  children  without  the  inter- 
vention of  a  redeemer." 

Isaac  walked  on  hastily  and  gave  free  vent  to  his 
musings.  A  thrush  sang  cheerily  in  a  near-by  tree, 
but  the  music  had  not  the  power  to  divert  his  thoughts. 

"And  why  should  I  change?"  he  said.  "What 
power  compels  me  to  seek  these  priests?  Can  they 
exorcise  the  spectre  of  a  murdered  man,  which  forever 
haunts  me?  My  religion  teaches  that  I  must  live 
down  my  crime  and  do  penance  for  it.  They  would 
have  me  admit  that  blind  belief  in  their  God  will 
absolve  me  and  purify  my  soul.  What  if  I  embrace 
their  faith,  and,  after  severing  the  bonds  which  unite 
me  with  my  people,  my  agony  and  my  remorse  still 
remain  ?  What  if  I  find  I  have  been  pursuing  a  for- 
lorn hope  ?  A  thousand  times  better  to  remain  a  Jew, 
surrender  to  the  authorities  and  do  penance  for  my 
crime." 

After  a  while  he  turned  his  steps  homeward,  but 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  new  mental  torture 
which  awaited  him  there.  What  if  this  new  religion 
were  able  to  afford  relief  after  all  ? 

"  Oh,  God  !"  he  sobbed,  "  why  am  I  such  a  coward  ? 
Why  have  I  not  the  moral  courage  to  end  my  torments 
by  a  decisive  resolution  ?  Guide  me,  oh,  God,  to  the 
right  path  !  Where  shall  I  look  for  salvation  ?  where 
for  peace  of  mind  ?" 

Still  undecided,  still  hovering  between  two  creeds, 
Isaac  reached  his  home  in  time  for  dinner.  A  hearty 
meal,  a  loving  kiss  and  a  happy  smile  awaited  him,  and 


The  Struggle.  247 

he  strove  to  drive  away  his  dismal  thoughts.  After 
dinner  he  went  into  the  garden  with  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren. Here  all  was  happiness  and  contentment.  Why- 
should  he  not  be  happy,  too  ?  He  made  an  effort  to 
cast  off  his  doubts  and  perplexities  and  romped  with 
his  boy  in  almost  childish  glee.  Lena  had  not  seen  him 
so  jolly  in  weeks,  and  she  heralded  this  change  as  a  fav- 
orable symptom.  She  knew  not  that  it  was  assumed  to 
hide  his  torments. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Rabbi  Kauffman  came  into 
the  garden,  unannounced,  and  found  him  surrounded  by 
his  family. 

"  My  dear  Schwartz,"  he  said,  "  it  is  so  long  since  I 
have  seen  you  that  I  thought  you  had  emigrated." 

Schwartz  made  a  vague  reply,  and  Lena,  with  a  word 
of  welcome,  offered  to  relieve  the  visitor  of  his  hat  and 
cane. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  he  said;  "  I  can  stay  but  a  minute. 
I  came  strictly  on  business.  I  have  just  discovered  a 
destitute  family — father,  mother,  and  five  children. 
The  poor  fellow  has  had  no  work  for  six  weeks.  He  is 
too  proud  to  beg,  and  if  I  hadn't  heard  of  him  I  think 
they  might  have  died  of  starvation.  I  fixed  them  tem- 
porarily, as  well  as  I  could.  The  man  is  a  carpenter  by 
trade,  and  says  if  he  could  get  a  set  of  tools  he  might 
earn  a  comfortable  living." 

"  How  much  will  he  require  ?" 

"  Twenty  dollars,  at  least." 

Isaac  took  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket  and  counted 
thirty  dollars  into  the  Rabbi's  hand. 

"  Here  are  ten  dollars  additional  for  provisions,"  he  said. 


248  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"Really,  Schwartz,  this  is  too  generous,"  cried  the 
delighted  Rabbi. 

"  Nonsense  !  There  is  quite  a  balance  in  my  ledger 
still  owing  to  the  poor." 

"  Then,  while  you  are  in  the  mood,"  said  the  Rabbi, 
smiling,  "  I'll  take  the  liberty  of  speaking  of  another 
matter.  That  project  of  building  a  more  desirable  syna- 
gogue has  been  dying  of  inanition.  You  are  the  man 
to  revive  it.  Head  a  list  with  a  liberal  amount,  and  I 
am  sure  that  the  others  will  follow." 

Isaac  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "we  need  a  new  building.  The 
gallery  is  very  insecure  and  may  fall  any  day.  If  it  does, 
we  will  reproach  ourselves  with  neglect.  Draw  up  the 
petition,  Rabbi,  and  I  will  put  down  my  name  for  five 
thousand  dollars." 

The  Rabbi  arose  and  shook  Isaac's  hand  enthusiastic- 
ally. 

"  You  are  a  noble  Jew,"  he  cried,  "  and  Judaism  has 
need  of  such  men  as  you." 

Isaac  grew  very  red  and  abruptly  changed  the  con- 
versation. 

On  the  verge  of  apostasy  the  compliment  seemed  a 
mockery,  and  he  smarted  under  the  kindly  words. 

Scarcely  had  the  Rabbi  gone  before  Mr.  Blumen,  who 
had  been  elected  secretary  of  the  Hebrew  Relief 
Society,  entered.  There  was  a  meeting  to  be  called  to~ 
devise  means  of  replenishing  the  empty  treasury. 
Several  sick  emigrants  required  immediate  aid,  and 
there  were  no  funds  in  sight.  Isaac  drew  a  check  for  a 
hundred  dollars. 


The  Struggle.  249 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  this  will  tide  you  over  until  the 
next  regular  meeting.  Then  we  will  find  a  way  for 
raising  the  needed  money." 

Mr.  Blumen  was  overjoyed.  He  had  secretly  con- 
tributed liberally  from  his  own  pocket,  but  the  demand 
was  ever  increasing. 

"Ah,  friend  Schwartz,"  he  said,  with  sincere  admira- 
tion, "  I  wish  there  were  more  Jews  like  you  in  the 
city.  You  are  a  credit  to  the  name  of  Israel."  And 
he,  too,  left. 

Lena  had  never  felt  so  proud  of  her  husband.  She 
lovingly  placed  her  arm  about  his  shoulders  and  kissed 
him. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  how  happy  you  must  feel  in 
doing  so  much  good.  The  Rabbi  was  right ;  our  race 
has  need  of  such  men  as  you,  for,  as  all  Jews  are  apt  to 
be  censured  for  the  faults  of  the  individuals,  so  the  good 
deeds  of  one  pass  to  the  credit  of  the  entire  race." 

Isaac  winced.  He  had  not  the  courage  to  meet  his 
wife's  honest  glance. 

"  She  speaks  truly,"  he  muttered.  "  The  Jews  need 
me ;  and  I  thought  for  a  moment  of  deserting  them ! 
It  was  a  dream.  It  is  all  over.  I  am  a  Jew,  and  shall 
remain  a  Jew  to  the  end." 

This  resolution  once  taken,  Isaac  felt  contented  for 
the  remainder  of  the  day ;  but  the  reaction,  as  usual, 
set  in.  Every  hour  of  happiness  was  counterbalanced 
by  two  of  remorse  and  grief. 

The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  and  Isaac  went  with 
his  wife  and  sister  to  the  synagogue.  He  was  in  no 
very  happy  frame  of  mind,  for  his  sleep  had  been  broken 


250  A  Victim  of  Conscience.  ' 

by  distressing  dreams.  The  sermon  of  Rabbi  Kauff- 
man,  based  upon  a  text  from  the  Lamentations  of  Jere- 
miah, had  the  effect  of  deepening  the  gloom  which 
enshrouded  his  soul.  He  tried  to  shake  off  his  sorrow, 
but  the  more  he  reflected,  the  greater  became  his  per- 
turbation. The  apparition  of  his  victim  stood  by  his 
side,  and  his  anxiety  increased  as  the  day  lengthened. 
These  fits  of  gloomy  despondency  were  becoming  alarm- 
ingly frequent.  Time,  instead  of  mitigating  his  remorse, 
only  served  to  intensify  it.  It  is  a  difficult  matter  to 
thoroughly  grasp  the  strange  reasoning  of  this  con- 
science-coward. The  hidden  mental  pathways  leading 
to  his  distorted  reflections,  the  discordant  chords  set  in 
vibration  by  his  acute  suffering,  all  were  at  variance 
with  the  course  of  thought  and  action  of  a  healthy 
intellect.  He  was  a  "  Laocoon,"  writhing  in  the  coils 
of  a  huge  serpent,  which  was  surely  but  unrelentingly 
crushing  out  his  vitality,  sapping  his  very  life.  His 
mind  had  brooded  over  his  crime  until  the  brain  had,  in 
a  measure,  become  diseased,  and  when  once  the  terrors 
of  self-reproach  seized  upon  him,  he  found  it  impossible 
to  shake  them  off.  Had  Isaac  possessed  the  decision  to 
confess  his  crime,  and  the  moral  courage  to  do  penance 
for  it,  this  constantly  growing  morbidness  would  have 
been  checked ;  but,  as  we  have  seen,  he  was  a  moral 
poltroon,  and  Sweeny's  phantom  had  taken  such  hold 
upon  his  imagination  that  no  ordinary  power  could 
exorcise  it. 

Isaac's  misery  continued  during  the  entire  Sabbath 
day,  and,  in  .place  of  relief,  evening  brought  but  a 
hideous  nightmare,  in  which  the  awful  tragedy  was 


The  Struggle.  251 

re-enacted,  and  from  which  the  culprit  awoke  with  a 
cry  of  agony. 

He  awoke  on  a  beautiful  autumn  Sunday  morning. 
The  warm  sun  shone  cheerfully  into  his  room,  but  its 
glorious  rays  brought  no  comfort  to  his  troubled  spirit. 
He  arose  and  looked  into  the  street.  People  were 
swarming  past  the  house  on  their  way  to  church. 

"  These  folks  have  no  worry,  no  anxiety  concerning 
their  souls,"  thought  Schwartz.  "  They  are  Christians 
and  are  confident  of  salvation." 

How  he  envied  them  !  He  ate  his  breakfast  list- 
lessly ;  then,  for  want  of  a  better  occupation,  he  took 
up  his  hat,  and  going  out,  mingled  with  the  crowd  and 
followed  them  into  church.  Cushioned  benches  and 
beautifully  painted  windows  attracted  his  eye.  A  great 
organ  pealed  forth  its  solemn  prelude,  and  a  choir  sang 
superbly.  This  was  so  much  more  beautiful  than  his 
own  dingy  synagogue.  It  was  an  Episcopalian  church 
into  which  chance  had  led  him. 

The  minister  ascended  the  pulpit  and  announced  the 
lesson  for  the  day.  He  read  a  grand  old  Jewish  psalm, 
which  Isaac  had  so  often  admired.  The  blood  of  the 
man  who  had  written  it  was,  perhaps,  flowing  through 
his  own  veins.  The  prayer  that  followed  had  so  many 
allusions  to  the  God  of  Israel  that  Isaac  looked  around 
in  surprise.  Was  it  a  mistake,  or  was  it  hypocrisy? 
Were  they  worshiping  the  same  God  in  the  same  way 
that  his  forefathers  had  done,  or  was  it  all  a  dream  ? 

Now  the  sermon  began.  Strangely  enough,  the  sub- 
ject was  "The  Prodigal  Son."  There  were  glaring 
inconsistencies,  statements  as  to  the  motives  and  secret 


252  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

desires  of  God,  which  would  have  made  Isaac  smile, 
had  he  been  in  a  less  serious  mood.  There  were  mis- 
interpretations of  words  which  were  clearly  meant  to  be 
taken  literally.  Some  statements  appeared  as  the  wildest 
forms  of  sophistry,  devoid  of  any  practical  meaning. 
Still  it  was  an  interesting  sermon.  The  subject  was 
treated  in  a  different  manner  from  that  of  Bishop  Keane, 
yet  it  conveyed  the  same  moral — the  salvation  of  the 
sinner  through  the  power  of  faith.  The  congregation 
evidently  believed  in  it,  and  was  happy. 

Isaac  left  at  the  conclusion  of  the  service. 

"  They  all  teach  the  same  doctrine,"  he  murmured. 
"  Can  such  a  beautiful  structure  have  a  lie  for  its  foun- 
dation ?  " 

Perhaps  it  was  true,  after  all,  and  his  doubts  were 
but  the  result  of  a  perverted  intellect.  Isaac  spent  an 
anxious  day,  hovering,  as  it  were,  between  two  creeds, 
and  incapable  of  arriving  at  a  decision.  * 

Night  again  brought  sleeplessness  and  despair.  The 
ghost  of  Sweeny  stood  mercilessly  at  his  side.  The 
harassed  culprit  seemed  to  hear  the  apparition  whisper 
into  his  ear : 

"  Become  a  Catholic.  Abjure  your  ancient  and  ob- 
solete religion,  and  enter  the  alone-saving  church.  You 
murdered  me,  a  Catholic,  and  only  by  bringing  a  new 
soul  into  the  holy  faith  can  you  hope  for  peace." 

The  morning  found  him  feverish.  The  question  of 
baptism  engrossed  his  every  thought.  He  arose  and 
sought  forgetfulness  in  his  business,  but  the  subject 
seemed  to  grow  upon  him  momentarily.  It  gave  him 
no  rest.  Why  could  not  Judaism  offer  him  so  com- 


The  Struggle.  253 

forting  a  solution,  so  easy  an  atonement,  as  Chris- 
tianity ? 

He  was  several  times  on  the  point  of  running  to  the 
priest's  and  crying : 

"  Take  me ;  I  will  be  baptized." 

He  as  often  checked  himself  with  the  thought : 

"  I  cannot  believe  what  they  tell  me,  and  without 
faith  they  promise  no  salvation." 

His  brain  was  on  fire,  his  temples  were  throbbing 
with  a  consuming  emotion.  Mechanically  he  took  up 
the  morning  paper  and  cast  his  eye  negligently  over  its 
pages. 

"  Murderer  Hung ! "  was  the  heading  which  suddenly 
attracted  his  attention.  With  feverish  excitement  he 
ran  his  eyes  over  the  column.  Anything  relating  to 
murder  had  a  horrible  fascination  for  him,  and  he  was 
in  thdjpabit  of  perusing  accounts  of  executions  with  a 
morbid  curiosity  which  added  greatly  to  his  mental 
tortures. 

The  article  in  question  was  about  a  wretch  who  had 
foully  murdered  his  wife,  had  been  absolved  from  sin 
just  before  his  execution,  and  impudently  expressed  on 
the  scaffold  a  regret  that  he  would  not  meet  his  wife  in 
heaven,  as  she  had  died  unprepared,  and  was  doomed 
to  eternal  punishment,  while  he  had  had  his  sins  for- 
given and  was  sure  of  celestial  glory. 

Isaac  read  this  account,  in  all  its  repellent  details, 
three  or  four  times  before  he  could  grasp  its  import. 

"  No,"  he  cried  at  length,  "I  cannot  believe  that  this 
is  a  teaching  of  Christianity.  It  is  impossible  that  I 
could  subscribe  to  such  a  doctrine.  To  me  it  seems  but 


254  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

a  travesty  on  God's  mercy,  a  superstition  to  which  men 
have  given  the  name  of  Religion.  Such  a  creed  can 
bring  no  comfort  to  my  miserable  soul,  for  my  mind 
would  refuse  to  give  it  credence.  But  if  I  reject  the 
idea  of  baptism,  what  then  ?  There  is  but  one  alterna- 
tive— a  full  confession  to  my  wife  and  to  the  authori- 
ties, and  expiation  before  the  law.  Which  shall  it  be  ?  " 

Sad  and  dejected,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  into  the 
street.  He  could  think  better  in  the  open  air,  where 
everything  spoke  to  him  of  the  greatness  and  goodness 
of  God.  He  wandered  about  aimlessly  till  noon,  and 
returned  to  his  home  as  irresolute  as  he  had  departed. 

Still  plunged  in  deep  meditation,  he  turned  the  corner 
leading  to  his  house.  Walking  slowly  towards  him, 
but  seemingly  unconscious  of  his  proximity,  came  his 
sister  Bertha,  at  the  side  of  August  Kern.  She  was 
chatting  gaily,  while  he  gazed  into  her  bright  eyes  with 
a  longing  which  too  clearly  betrayed  his  feelings  towards 
the  girl.  She  was  evidently  explaining  something  to 
him,  and  he  was  listening  intently.  Presently  Bertha 
saw  her  brother  and  smiled,  while  August  blushed  like 
a  detected  schoolboy,  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Bertha  ?  "  asked  Isaac,  assum- 
ing a  severe  tone. 

"On  an  errand." 

"Shall  I  go  with  you?" 

"  No ;  August  will  accompany  me.  Lena  is  waiting 
for  you  at  home." 

Isaac  felt  ill  at  ease.  He  turned  slowly  homeward, 
while  the  two  resumed  their  walk. 

"  This  is  getting  serious,"  he  said,  moodily.     "  The 


The'  Struggle.  255 

evenings  are  no  longer  sufficient,  but  they  must  meet 
during  the  day.  What  if  Lena  were  right,  and  they 
loved  each  other  ?  My  God,  it  would  be  horrible  !  I 
would  never  consent — never !  Father  confided  her  to 
my  care,  and  I  am  responsible  for  her  welfare.  This 
intimacy  must  end.  I  shall  speak  to  Bertha  as  soon  as 
possible." 

He  arrived  home  in  no  very  roseate  humor,  and 
Bertha  came  in  a  few  minutes  later.  There  was  nothing 
said  on  the  subject  at  the  time,  as  Isaac  wanted  to 
reserve  his  reproaches  until  he  saw  his  sister  alone. 
The  dinner  progressed  in  comparative  silence,  except  for 
the  prattle  of  the  children.  The  others  were  busy 
with  their  own  thoughts. 

The  meeting  between  Kern  and  Bertha  had  been 
purely  accidental.  On  his  way  from  the  shop  to  his 
home,  the  young  man  had  unexpectedly  met  his  beloved 
and  had  asked  permission  to  accompany  her.  He  had 
much  to  tell  her,  and  he  begged  her  to  appoint  an  eve- 
ning when  he  could  meet  her,  as  of  old.  August  could 
brook  no  further  delay.  He  was  desperately  in  love. 
The  autumn  sunsets,  the  balmy  breezes,  the  music  of 
the  teeming  world  about  him,  all  spoke  to  his  soul  of 
Bertha.  Her  words  were  as  caresses  to  him,  and  he 
cherished  her  every  utterance,  as  of  an  oracle,  with  a 
religious  devotion.  He  was  amazed  at  the  force  with 
which  this  passion  had  taken  possession  of  him.  It 
grew  with  an  over-mastering  power,  and  was  no  longer 
to  be  resisted.  The  fact  that  he  had  been  forcibly 
separated  from  her  had  but  added  fuel  to  the  flame. 
Poor  August,  sighing  indeed  like  a  furnace,  had  made 


256  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

several  attempts  to  see  her  during  the  previous  week, 
but,  by  a  strange  fatality,  her  evenings  had  been  uni- 
formly engaged.  Lena,  feeling  that  further  appeals  to 
her  preoccupied  husband  were  useless,  had  resolved,  as 
we  have  seen,  to  take  the  matter  into  her  own  hands,  and 
to  prevent  what  seemed  to  her  the  most  terrible  of  all 
calamities — a  marriage  between  Bertha  and  a  Gentile. 
She  kept  them  apart  by  inventing  little  visits  for  her 
sister-in-law,  and  dragged  the  poor  girl  out  into  society 
every  evening,  much  against  her  inclination. 

But  Kern  would  endure  it  no  longer.  He  had 
besought  Bertha  for  an  interview,  and  she  had  prom- 
ised him  to  be  at  home  that  evening.  He  would  throw 
himself  at  her  feet  and  beseech  her  to  make  him  the 
happiest  of  mortals.  To  do  Kern  justice,  he  had  no 
doubt  as  to  the  result — not  through  a  too  exalted  idea 
as  to  his  worth,  but  because  he  felt  that  so  great  a  love 
as  his  must  have  kindled  a  kindred  love  in  the  girl's 
heart.  Joyous  at  the  near  realization  of  his  hopes,  he 
whistled  merrily  as  he  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

His  mother  sat  at  home,  waiting  impatiently  for 
August  to  arrive.  From  time  to  time  she  took  up  a 
letter  which  lay  in  her  lap  and  read  it  over.  Then  she 
laid  it  down  with  a  sigh. 

"What  will  my  boy  say?"  she  murmured.  "I 
would  be  satisfied  with  the  change,  if  he  were." 

The  outer  door  opened  and  a  well-known  step  in  the 
hall  announced  her  beloved  son. 

"  Mother,"  he  cried,  joyfully,  kissing  her,  "  I  have 
kept  you  waiting.  Forgive  me.  I  met  somebody  in 
the  road,  with  whom  I  conversed  for  a  while." 


The  Struggle.  257 

His  gaiety  betrayed  him. 

"  Do  you  mean  Bertha  Schwartz  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother.  It  is  the  first  meeting  I  have  had 
with  her  for  almost  a  week." 

The  old  lady  frowned,  in  evident  displeasure. 

"  Here,  my  son,  read  this,"  she  said,  after  a  pause, 
during  which  August  removed  his  hat  and  tidied  his 
clothing. 

The  letter  was  from  Mrs.  Kern's  younger  brother, 
who  had  established  himself  in  a  Southern  city  and  was 
doing  a  thriving  business.  It  began  by  telling  of  the 
marvelous  growth  of  the  town  and  of  his  business,  and 
ended  by  extending  a  hearty  invitation  to  his  sister  and 
to  August  to  come  and  live  with  him. 

"  You  will  like  it  here,"  said  the  writer.  "  The 
Southerners  are  very  hospitable,  and  will  extend  you  a 
cordial  welcome.  I  must  have  some  one  to  assist  me, 
as  I  have  too  much  work  for  one  to  superintend, 
and  August  is  just  the  man  I  require.  I  promise  him 
a  good  salary,  and  at  the  end  of  the  year  an  interest  in 
the  business.  Do  not  hesitate,  but  let  me  have  your 
consent  at  once." 

August  silently  handed  the  letter  back  to  his  mother. 

"  What  do  you  say,  my  boy  ?"  asked  the  old  lady, 
half  timidly,  half  beseechingly. 

"  I  cannot  go,  mother." 

"Why  not?  Your  position  at  the  factory  is  not 
lucrative.  You  cannot  earn  more  than  enough  to  sup- 
port your  old  mother  and  yourself,  and  I've  heard  you 
say  more  than  once  that  your  chances  for  advancement 
were  not  encouraging." 
17 


258  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  I  know  it ;  but  I  cannot  leave  the  city,"  replied 
August,  with  decision. 

"  Why  not,  my  son  ?" 

"  It  would  mean  to  leave  her,  and  I  cannot  think  of 
that." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  Jewess  ?" 

August  nodded  assent. 

"  My  son,"  said  his  mother,  tenderly,  taking  his 
hand,  "  for  that  very  reason  I  desire  you  to  go  away. 
I  believe  your  uncle's  letter  was  inspired  by  a  special 
providence,  to  take  you  away  from  her  influence." 

August  sprang  up  angrily.  All  his  tenderness  to  his 
well-beloved  parent  vanished  at  the  implied  opposition. 

"  To  hear  you  speak  like  that,  one  would  think  she 
were  a  devil,  instead  of  the  angel  that  she  is,"  he  said. 

"  She  may  be  the  angel  that  you  believe,  but  she  is 
not  the  bride  for  you.  If  your  poor  father  were  alive, 
do  you  think  he  would  consent  to  your  marrying  a 
Jewess — you,  a  Roman  Catholic  ?  She  is  beneath  you." 

August  laughed  bitterly. 

"  Beneath  me !"  he  cried.  "  I  would  to  God  she 
were  not  so  far  above  me." 

"  In  what,  my  boy  ?" 

"  In  wealth,  in  intelligence,  in  goodness  of  heart." 

"  But  think  of  her  religion.  She  denies  the  Saviour. 
For  her  there  is  no  heaven — only  hell." 

"  Inventions  of  fanatical  priests !"  cried  August, 
striding  up  and  down  the  little  room.  "  I'll  never  believe 
that  God  created  so  divine  a  soul  to  be  damned  forever. 
You  don't  believe  it  yourself." 

"My  son,"  cried  the  poor  mother,  in  pious  amaze- 


The  Struggle.  259 

ment,  "  are  you  out  of  your  senses  ?  Why,  your  very 
admiration  for  this  Jewess  has  brought  you  to  blas- 
phemy." 

"Do  not  you  and  all  good  Catholics  worship  a 
Jewess  ?"  he  said,  halting  a  moment  before  his  mother. 
"  Was  not  Mary  of  the  same  race  ?  And  I  warrant  no 
better  or  purer  than  the  maiden  I  worship.  And  was 
not  Jesus  a  Jew  ?  Can  the  Jews  be  so  very  inferior  to 
us,  when  they  give  us  the  highest  ideals  of  goodness  and 
wisdom  ?" 

"August,"  cried  the  unhappy  mother,  with  tears 
standing  in  her  eyes,  "  do  not  speak  that  way ;  it  is  a 
sin." 

August  knew  not  what  to  reply.  He  had  never 
antagonized  his  mother  before,  and  it  went  to  his  heart 
to  think  that  he  was  the  cause  of  her  tears.  After  a 
pause,  she  said : 

"  Tell  me  one  thing.  Have  you  spoken  to  this — to 
Bertha  ?  Does  she  know  of  your  love  for  her  ?" 

"  No,  mother,  I  have  as  yet  said  nothing.  But  she 
must  know  it  instinctively." 

"Better  leave  it  unsaid.  She  will  not  have  you, 
and  even  if  she  would  consent,  her  brother  would 
refuse.  Oh,  you  do  not  know  how  tenaciously  these 
Jews  cling  to  their  religion,  and  how  they  hate  the 
Christians.  They  will  associate  with  them  in  matters 
of  business,  but  once  propose  matrimony,  and  they 
would  rather  see  their  dearest  child  in  the  grave  than 
the  wife  of  a  non-Jew." 

"  Mother,  you  exaggerate." 

"Not  at  all.      I  have  seen  it  in  Europe.      I  have 


260  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

seen  a  Jewish  girl  marry  a  Christian  young  man  in 
our  village,  as  fine  a  fellow  as  ever  lived,  and  her 
parents  sat  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  bewailed  her 
as  though  she  were  dead." 

"  They  were  fanatics/'  cried  August,  in  indignation, 
resuming  his  impatient  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Not  more  so  than  others.  Catholics  and  Jews  are 
like  oil  and  water ;  they  can  never  mix.  Suppose  you 
married  her.  What  does  she  know  of  the  blessed 
Saviour,  of  the  Holy  Virgin  and  the  saints  ?  On  your 
Sabbath  she  would  work,  and  your  holidays  would  be 
indifferent  to  her.  On  the  other  hand,  her  ways  would 
be  as  strange  and  uncongenial  to  you.  It  won't  do,  my 
boy ;  there  would  be  nought  but  unhappiness  and  dis- 
tress." 

"  I  can  become  a  Jew,"  answered  the  young  man,  in 
despair. 

"  August,  my  son !  Do  you  want  to  bring  your 
mother  to  the  grave?  You  a  Jew  !  Deny  the  Saviour 
and  become  an  outcast  from  the  holy  church  ?  Do  you 
know  what  you  are  saying?"  And  her  tears  gushed 
forth  copiously. 

"  There,  there,  mother,  don't  cry ;  I  did  not  mean  it." 

"  Become  a  Jew  ! "  continued  the  old  lady,  working 
herself  into  a  righteous  passion,  and  sobbing  as  though 
her  heart  would  break.  "Would  there  be  any  happi- 
ness for  me  in  heaven  while  I  knew  you  to  be  suffering 
in  purgatory  for  your  apostasy  ?  Dear  Jesus,  help  him 
cast  out  the  devil  that  is  tempting  him.  My  son,  ask 
Jesus  to  help  you." 

She  was  desperately  in  earnest  and  sank  upon  her 


The  Struggle.  261 

knees  In  supplication.  August,  too,  was  moved.  Per- 
haps his  mother  was  right,  and  he  had  better  go  away. 

"  Give  her  up,"  pleaded  the  old  lady — "  give  her  up, 
for  my  sake." 

"  I  can't  promise.  I  love  her,  mother — oh,  how  I 
love  her  !  What  do  I  care  for  religion  ?  Her  love  will 
be  a  religion  to  me — all  I  need." 

"  No,  no  !  Nothing  but  harm  can  come  of  it,"  sobbed 
the  old  lady.  "Accept  your  uncle's  proposition,  and 
let  us  go  to  him.  Take  my  advice,  August,  and  give 
her  up.  Think  of  my  unhappiness,  if  not  of  your  own 
future  misery." 

For  awhile  the  poor  lad  paced  on  silently.  Finally 
he  said,  dejectedly : 

"  Come,  mother  dear,  dry  your  eyes,  and  let  us  hav* 
dinner.  I  must  go  back  to  work.  Let  the  matter  rest 
for  the  present.  I  shall  think  it  over  before  I  say  any- 
thing to  her." 

At  the  table  both  were  busy  with  their  unhappy  re- 
flections. August's  mind  was  hi  too  much  of  a  whirl 
to  be  capable  of  formulating  any  definite  plan  ;  but  he 
finally  concluded,  in  spite  of  his  mother's  well-meant 
advice,  to  call  on  Bertha  that  evening,  acknowledge  his 
passion,  explain  his  position,  and  leave  his  future  in  her 
hands.  What,  indeed,  could  an  old  lady  of  seventy 
know  of  the  overwhelming  power  of  love  ? 

Kern  was  perturbed  all  the  afternoon.  His  mind 
was  confused  by  the  rush  of  conflicting  sentiments,  and 
he  accomplished  but  a  sorry  day's  work. 

Isaac  Schwartz,  on  his  side,  was  no  less  perturbed ; 
but  with  him  it  was  not  love,  but  an  equally  serious 


262  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

question — religion — which  was  the  disturbing  factor. 
He  forgot  both  Kern  and  Bertha,  and  locking  himself 
in  his  room — for  he  had  need  of  solitude — he  fought  a 
valiant  fight  over  ground  which  has  for  centuries  been 
the  battle-field  of  contending  creeds.  Why  should  he 
place  blind  credence  in  the  theories  of  priests  ?  He 
would  investigate  and  find  the  truth  unaided. 

"  I  will  try  to  discover  for  myself/'  he  said,  "  whether 
the  doctrines  taught  by  Father  Kelly  are  true  or  false. 
If  I  find  them  true,  I  will  be  baptized  without  further 
hesitation,  and  in  spite  of  all  my  scruples.  If  not,  I 
shall  work  out  my  salvation  according  to  my  own  Jewish 
faith.  If  God  has  proclaimed  salvation  through  his 
crucified  Son,  then  the  important  fact  must  have  been 
heralded  to  the  world  in  a  manner  which  the  humblest 
and  most  ignorant  of  men  may  understand.  The  Bible 
will  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know.  It  must  contain 
inherent  evidence  of  the  truth  or  falsity  of  the  dogmas 
it  teaches.  Why  should  I  take  the  word  of  priests  ?  I 
can  read  as  well  as  they,  and  can  draw  my  own  conclu- 
sions." 

Eagerly  but  methodically  he  scanned  the  pages  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament ;  but  alas  !  instead  of  finding 
proof,  his  doubts  increased.  What  was  interpreted  by 
the  church  to  prophesy  the  coming  of  the  Redeemer 
assumed  quite  another  meaning  to  his  analytical  mind. 
He  read  with  the  eyes  of  reason,  not  of  faith.  He  saw 
in  the  prophets  but  an  account  of  the  events  that  were 
about  to  happen  in  the  household  of  Israel,  but  no  allu- 
sion to  an  eventual  Redeemer.  The  Evangelists  ap- 
peared to  him  full  of  contradictions  on  most  vital 


The  Struggle.  263 

points,  and  far  from  convincing  where  they  agreed.  In 
the  utterances  of  Jesus  he  heard  only  an  echo  of  the 
teachings  of  many  Jewish  sages,  but  nowhere  did  he 
find  the  conviction  of  Christ's  divinity. 

All  afternoon  he  sat  in  deep  study,  searching  in  vain 
for  a  way  out  of  the  chaotic  doubt  in  which  he  floun- 
dered. The  Man-God  became  in  his  eyes  but  a  good 
and  righteous  Jew,  who  taught  humility  and  love,  and 
who  would  have  become  one  of  Israel's  great  Rabbis 
had  not  the  ambition  of  his  misguided  followers  deliv- 
ered him  into  the  hands  of  the  Roman  oppressors. 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  he  thought,  "  that  Christians  ad- 
mire the  character  of  Jesus.  He  was  a  noble  and  virtu- 
ous man — a  Jew,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word.  If  they 
worshiped  him  as  a  righteous  man  and  strove  to  emulate 
his  life,  I  could  find  it  rational ;  but  to  raise  him  to  the 
dignity  of  a  God,  to  make  him  appear  at  once  a  man 
and  a  divinity,  born  on  purpose  to  be  sacrificed  because 
mankind  would  not  or  could  not  abstain  from  wrong- 
doing, this  is  incomprehensible  to  me," 

So  Isaac  sat  and  pondered,  without  taking  heed  of 
the  flight  of  time.  He  had  long  ago  lit  his  lamp.  His 
wife  had  repeatedly  knocked  at  his  door,  but  he  refused 
to  open  it. 

"  Leave  me  alone,  Lena,"  he  cried.  "  I  am  occupied." 

"  But  supper  is  ready." 

"  I  don't  want  any.     I  have  no  time  for  supper." 

Several  times  during  the  evening  she  sought  admis- 
sion, but  always  with  the  same  result. 

"  Isaac,"  she  cried,  at  last,  "  you  must  open.  I  have 
something  important  to  tell  you." 


264  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

He  scarcely  heard  her  voice,  so  absorbed  was  he  in 
his  meditations;  and  his  wife  retired,  uneasy  and  dis- 
couraged, to  seek  comfort  and  consolation  with  Bertha. 

Isaac  continued  to  read,  but  it  was  no  longer  the  New 
Testament  from  which  he  sought  instruction.  By  acci- 
dent he  took  up  a  Protestant  book,  in  which  the  Cath- 
olic creed  was  unmercifully  condemned.  He  glanced 
at  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,  which  was  filled  with  tales 
of  cruelty  practiced  in  the  name  of  Jesus.  He  read 
passages  in  Boulanger's  Life  of  Paul,  which  cast  serious 
aspersions  upon  the  writers  of  the  Bible.  The  more  he 
read,  the  more  indignant  he  became  with  himself  for 
having  dreamed  of  deserting  his  own  religion  for  one 
which  his  troubled  spirit  failed  to  understand. 

Pushing  aside  his  books  at  length,  he  cried,  "  I  was 
on  the  point  of  embracing  this  faith,  of  accepting  the 
doctrines  which  Father  Kelly  taught  me ;  but  believe 
in  them  I  never  can.  He  may  find  consolation  in  them ; 
I  cannot." 

Presently  he  arose  and  paced  the  room  with  growing 
agitation. 

"  Father  Kelly  is  now  waiting  for  me  to  signify 
my  intention  of  becoming  a  Christian,"  he  murmured. 
"  Even  if  it  appealed  to  my  intelligence,  how  could  I  ever 
surrender  to  the  church  which  has  persecuted,  outraged 
and  debased  the  Jews  since  it  came  into  existence — the 
church  which,  in  every  country  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
has  tortured  and  robbed  us — which  has  forced  us  into 
ghettos  and  compelled  us  to  wrear  the  badge  of  dis- 
grace— which  has  torn  us  on  the  rack,  burned  us  at  the 
stake  and  exiled  us  ignominiously,  when  there  was 


The  Struggle.  265 

nothing  left  for  it  to  take  ?  Can  I  now  crawl  on  my 
knees  to  this  church  and  beg  to  be  accepted  as  a  con- 
vert ?  Can  I  kneel  to  the  Christ,  in  whose  name  all 
these  cruelties  have  been  heaped  upon  my  race,  and 
humbly  ask  for  salvation  ?  Can  I  kiss  the  hand  that 
has  so  cruelly  smitten  my  unfortunate  people?  Almighty 
God,  guard  me  from  such  a  step  !  For  a  brief  moment, 
my  remorse,  the  agony  of  my  soul,  caused  me  to  neglect 
my  family,  my  religion,  my  nationality,  and  seek  for 
consolation  in  a  church  which  I  can  never  revere." 

Isaac  walked  up  and  down  his  room  with  clenched 
fists  and  furrowed  brow,  a  prey  to  violent  emotion.  It 
was  a  Titanic  struggle,  in  which  cowardice  and  resolu- 
tion fought  for  the  mastery. 

"  My  family !"  he  continued,  bitterly.  "  Were  I  to 
take  such  a  step,  my  family  would  deny  me.  My  pious 
father  and  mother,  if  they  heard  of  it,  would  put  ashes 
on  their  heads  and  say  '  Kaddisch '  for  me.  Shame 
and  mortification  would  follow  them  and  render  their 
lives  a  burden,  and  grief  would  hurry  them  to  the 
grave." 

The  picture  was  harrowing  to  Isaac.  He  beat  his 
breast  and  bit  his  lips,  as  he  thought  of  the  misery  his 
apostasy  would  cause. 

"  And  Lena,"  he  cried.  "  My  God,  what  would 
my  poor  wife  do  if  I  were  to  become  a  Christian  ? 
Would  she  not  execrate  me  and  curse  the  day  she  left 
her  father's  roof  to  follow  me  ?  Would  she  not  teach 
her  children  to  despise  their  unnatural  father,  who  had 
cast  off  his  religion  and  capitulated  to  the  enemy? 
Would  she  not  leave  me  in  abhorrence  and  loathe  my 


266  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

very  name?  What  can  Lena  know  of  my  daily  aud 
hourly  agony  ?  She  would  see  in  my  apostasy  but  un- 
pardonable treason.  She  has  no  cause  to  be  dissatisfied 
with  the  teachings  of  Judaism.  She  finds  her  happi- 
ness in  them ;  and  while  I  sought  salvation  in  the  new 
religion,  she  would  die  of  grief  and  despair.  This  reli- 
gion, according  to  its  doctrines,  would  open  for  me  the 
gates  of  heaven,  while  my  beloved  wife  and  children, 
being  unbaptized,  would  linger  forever  in  the  torments 
of  hell.  Could  this  be  happiness  for  me  ?" 

"  Adonai,  Adonai !"  he  cried,  in  his  despair.  "  Why 
hast  tliou  sent  me  this  mental  anguish  ?  Why  hast  thou 
caused  me  to  waver  in  my  belief?  Give  me  strength 
to  fight  the  battle.  Grant  me  atonement  for  my  crime. 
Exorcise  the  phantom  which  is  forever  pursuing  me.  Let 
me  find  salvation  and  peace  in  my  own  time-honored 
religion.  Lead  me  to  victory  over  my  guilt-stained 
conscience.  Let  me  again  find  happiness  as  a  Jew." 

In  his  agitation  Isaac  threw  himself  face  downward 
on  the  bed  and  groaned  and  writhed  in  agony.  Long 
lay  he  there.  A  series  of  dismal  pictures  passed  slowly 
through  his  brain.  He  saw  the  countless  persecutions 
of  the  Jews  by  the  early  Christians ;  he  saw  the  cruel- 
ties practiced  upon  the  defenceless  Hebrews  during  the 
Crusades;  he  saw  the  bloodshed  and  tortures  of  the 
Inquisition,  the  rack,  the  pinion,  the  dungeon  and  the 
stake ;  he  saw  the  cruel  expatriation  of  the  Jews  from 
Spain  and  France ;  he  saw  the  ceaseless  misery  inflicted 
upon  the  Israelites  in  Germany,  in  Austria,  in  Poland 
and  in  Russia ;  he  saw  the  hatred,  the  antagonism,  the 
intolerance  everywhere  displayed  towards  the  despised 


The  Struggle.  267 

and  misunderstood  Hebrew.  The  pictures  rankled  in 
his  soul  and  brought  the  hot  blood  surging  to  his  cheeks. 

He  strode  to  the  window  and  threw  it  wide  open. 
Grateful  was  the  cooling  breeze  that  blew  in  from 
the  river.  It  bathed  his  heated  brow  and  brought  a 
momentary  surcease  from  the  mental  torture  he  endured. 
Stars  were  still  shining  in  the  sky,  but  the  horizon  was 
streaked  with  the  first  tinge  of  gray,  the  herald  of  a  new 
morning. 

"  How  beautiful  is  the  universe  !"  he  murmured. 
"  How  wonderful !  How  expressive  of  the  greatness 
and  omnipotence  of  God !  Everything  is  formed  for 
the  welfare  of  God's  creatures,  and  yet  how  little  does 
man  understand  the  art  of  finding  happiness !  Religion, 
springing  as  it  does  from  a  love  and  reverence  for  the 
Creator,  instead  of  acting  as  a  blessing  to  humanity, 
more  often  becomes  a  curse.  Man  busies  himself  with 
an  empty  form,  an  abstract  idea,  and  entirely  loses 
sight  of  the  fundamental  idea  that  God  is  a  loving 
father,  and  all  mankind  are  his  children.  How  vast  is 
this  universe !  The  earth  is  but  an  atom  among  the 
hosts  of  worlds  that  crowd  the  canopy  of  heaven,  and 
yet  impotent  man,  in  his  conceit,  would  teach  that  the 
Almighty  Creator  of  this  wondrous  system  has  singled 
out  this  insignificant  planet  on  which  to  live,  suffer  and 
die.  How  strange  such  a  doctrine  would  sound  to  the 
Christians,  were  they  to  hear  of  it  for  the  first  time  as 
having  existed  among  a  primitive  race !  It  would  take 
its  rank  with  Grecian  mythology  and  with  the  Saxon 
Sagas ;  and  yet  daily  association  with  the  idea  has  made 
it  appear  plausible  to  millions  of  intelligent  beings. 


268  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

God  is  no  revengeful,  unforgiving,  capricious  ruler,  con- 
demning his  handiwork  to-day  and  forgiving  to-mor- 
row. There  can  be  but  one  true  religion — that  which 
teaches  that  God  is  the  Lord  of  the  universe;  that  our 
lives,  our  destinies,  are  in  his  hands,  and  that  our  deeds 
alone  will  influence  our  happiness  here  and  our  salva- 
tion hereafter." 

Isaac  gazed  long  and  prayerfully  toward  the  rising 
sun,  and  instinctively  the  Hebrew  morning  prayer  rose 
to  his  lips.  It  was  long  since  he  had  repeated  it.  It 
brought  a  strange  sense  of  relief. 

"  Hear,  oh,  Israel !"  he  cried,  with  exaltation,  "  the 
Lord  our  God  is  an  only  God.  Surely  the  God  of  Israel 
has  some  comfort  for  the  repentant  sinner.  I  will  seek  it. 
Had  I  sought  for  salvation  in  my  own  religion  as  indus- 
triously as  I  have  examined  into  the  mysteries  of 
Christianity,  I  should  have  found  it  long  ago.  I  will 
confide  in  my  wife ;  will  tell  my  story  to  the  Rabbi, 
and  will  find  atonement  in  Judaism.  Then  will  I 
expiate  my  crime  according  to  my  country's  laws,  and 
will  emerge  from  the  ordeal  a  happy  man,  and,  with 
God's  help,  a  devout  Jew." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE   PROPOSAL. 

"  Love  is  begot  by  fancy,  bred 
By  ignorance,  by  expectation  fed, 
Destroyed  by  knowledge,  and  at  best 
Lost  in  the  moment  'tis  possessed." 

— Lord  Lansdown. 

WHILE  Isaac  was  thus  engrossed  with  his  religious 
speculations,  his  sister  Bertha  and  August  Kern  were 
discussing  the  same  subject  in  a  different  manner.  The 
young  lady,  as  we  know,  had  promised  her  admirer  an 
interview  during  the  evening ;  and  Kern,  in  consider- 
able mental  trepidation,  called  at  her  home.  As  usual, 
Lena  did  her  utmost  to  keep  the  couple  apart,  but  her 
misguided  efforts  were  evidently  not  appreciated.  Kern, 
preparatory  to  proposing  marriage,  proposed  a  short 
walk.  Bertha  accepted,  and  the  discomfited  Lena  was 
left  alone  to  meditate  upon  the  uncertainty  of  human 
projects.  Had  not  Mrs.  Franzman  dropped  in  by 
accident,  it  would  have  proved  an  uncomfortable  even- 
ing for  Lena. 

To  August  Kern  it  seemed  as  though  all  the  realities 
of  his  life  depended  on  this  interview.  He  could  con- 
ceive of  no  future  without  Bertha,  no  happiness  if  she 
rejected  him.  His  mother's  objections  and  fears  all 
vanished  from  his  mind  as  soon  as  he  was  in  Bertha's 
presence.  He  felt  but  one  thing — that  he  adored  her. 

269 


270  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"You  have  something  to  say  to  me,  August,"  sug- 
gested Bertha,  as  they  walked  along,  arm  in  arm. 

"Yes,"  stammered  the  young  man.  "It  is  possible 
that  I  may  leave  this  place." 

"  Indeed  ?  I  shall  be  very  sorry,"  said  Bertha,  earn- 
estly. 

"  Will  it  grieve  you  very  much  ?  " 

"Yes,  August.  "We  have  been  good  friends,  and  I 
should  regret  to  have  you  leave.  Where  are  you 
going?" 

"It  depends  upon  you  whether  I  go  or  remain," 
stammered  August. 

"  On  me  ?  "  cried  Bertha,  in  surprise. 

"Yes.  Is  it  possible,  Bertha,  that  you  haven't 
understood  me — that  you  do  not  know  I  love  you  ?  " 

"  You  love  me  ?  "  asked  Bertha,  with  a  shade  of  sad- 
ness in  her  voice.  "  I  am  a  Jewess,  and  you — " 

"A  Catholic.  Well,  what  of  it?  I  love  you 
all  the  same.  I  have  loved  you  ever  since  we  met. 
Has  religion  the  power  to  tear  two  loving  souls  asun- 
der?" 

Bertha  relinquished  his  arm. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  simply. 

"Sorry  for  what?" 

"  That  you  allowed  your  feelings  to  carry  you  so  far, 
and  that  I  innocently  encouraged  you." 

"  Then  you  do  not  care  for  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  as  much  as  for  any  one,  except  my  family. 
But  that  is  not  love.  I  can  only  give  my  heart  to  one 
of  my  own  race." 

"If  you  loved  me  you  could  not  speak  so.     You 


The  Proposal.  271 

would  brave  everything  to  be  mine,"  said  August,  bit- 
terly. 

"  Listen,  August.  I  admire  you  greatly.  We  have 
been  excellent  friends,  but  no  thought  of  your  seriously 
loving  me  ever  entered  my  mind.  If  it  had,  I  should 
have  avoided  you." 

"Avoided  me,"  said  the  young  man,  deeply  hurt. 
"Why?  Am  I  so  far  beneath  you?" 

"  Not  that,  August.  You  are  my  superior  in  most 
things.  But  you  know  I  was  brought  up  an  orthodox 
Jewess.  My  father  is  very  pious  and  clings  to  the 
tenets  of  his  religion.  It  would  grieve  him  if  I  were 
to  marry  a  Christian." 

"  And  do  you  think  as  he  does  on  the  subject  of 
religion  ?  " 

"  These  ideas  are  inborn,  August.  We  cannot  root 
them  out." 

For  awhile  neither  spoke.     Finally  August  asked : 

"  Is  it  perhaps  because  I  am  poor  that  you  refuse  ? 
I  have  little,  it  is  true,  but  I  am  in  a  position  to  sup- 
port a  wife  comfortably.  I  have  secretly  toiled  and 
saved  for  you,  Bertha,  hoping  some  day  to  make  you 
my  wife." 

"  I  do  not  care  for  money.  Wealth  would  never  in- 
fluence me  in  the  choice  of  a  husband.  But  I  am  afraid 
it  can  never  be.  Even  if  I  should  consent,  my  brother 
would  withhold  his  approval." 

"  But  if  he  were  satisfied,  would  you  allow  me  to 
woo  you  until  I  had  taught  you  to  love  me  ?  " 

"  It  would  not  be  a  difficult  lesson,  for  I  like  you 
very  much ;  but  he  will  not  consent." 


272  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

A  ray  of  hope  lit  up  the  young  man's  face  as  he  took 
her  hand. 

"  Thank  you  for  that,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  speak  to 
Isaac  to-morrow." 

"  You  know,  August,"  said  the  maiden,  endeavoring 
to  soften  the  blow,  "  according  to  our  European  train- 
ing, we  have  little  voice  in  the  matter  of  marriage. 
The  proper  bridegroom  is  selected  for  us,  and  we  have 
only  to  obey.  You  will  never  get  my  father's  or  my 
brother's  consent.  I  am  sure  I  could  be  happy  at  your 
side  if  you  were  a  Jew,  but  I  am  too  dutiful  a  daughter 
to  cause  my  father  so  great  a  grief  as  such  an  alliance 
would  bring  to  him." 

August  found  nothing  to  reply.  Perhaps  she  was 
right.  Had  not  his  mother  spoken  in  the  same  way  ? 
Was  not  Bertha  reading  him  a  much-needed  lesson  in 
filial  duty?  Silently  and  sorrowfully  the  couple  re- 
turned to  their  homes.  All  the  joy  seemed  to  have  gone 
out  of  Kern's  life. 

"To-morrow,"  whispered  August,  on  parting — "to- 
morrow will  decide  my  fate — will  make  me  miserable 
or  happy  for  life." 

"And  should  Isaac  refuse,  August,  take  my  word  for 
it,  it  will  be  for  the  best.  Do  not  grieve.  In  a  matter 
of  such  grave  importance,  the  heart  should  not  be 
hearkened  to  until  the  intellect  has  been  consulted." 

Mrs.  Franzman  had  just  left,  and  Bertha  found  Lena 
alone.  Woman-like,  she  at  once  poured  her  story  into 
Lena's  eager  ear,  and  her  tears  flowed  abundantly. 

"And  you  did  not  suspect  that  he  loved  you?" 
asked  Lena. 


The  Proposal.  273 

"  How  could  I  ?  Do  you  think  that  I  would  have 
encouraged  him  ?  I  merely  looked  upon  him  as  a 
good  friend ;  and  now  I  really  believe  I  am  beginning 
to  care  for  him." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Bertha,  for  the  sake  of  all  you  hold 
dear.  Steel  your  heart  against  this  feeling.  It  will  end 
in  no  good.  Isaac  will  never  consent  to  such  a  union. 
The  knowledge  that  Mr.  Kern  was  paying  you  serious 
attentions  caused  me  many  a  sleepless  night.  Be  a 
sensible  girl,  and  stifle  whatever  affection  you  have 
in  your  heart  for  him." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  my  duty  to  do  so,"  said  the  girl, 
sorrowfully. 

"  There's  another  young  man  I  know  of,"  said  Lena, 
with  assumed  levity,  "  who  loves  you  just  as  much,  to 
judge  from  his  attentions,  and  who  is  a  far  more  desira- 
ble suitor.  It  is  not  a  question  of  a  momentary  plea- 
sure; the  happiness  of  a  lifetime  depends  upon  your 
decision." 

"  I  understand  you,  dear,  and  know  that  you  are 
right ;  but  I  am  grieved,  nevertheless." 

"  For  yourself?"  asked  Lena. 

"  For  August.     He  appeared  so  dejected." 

"  He  will  recover.  Better  a  moment  of  sorrow  than 
a  lifetime  of  regret." 

Bertha  kissed  her  sister  good-night  and  retired  to 
reflect  in  the  seclusion  of  her  room. 

On  the  following  morning  Lena  found  her  husband 

in  a  state  of  alarming  disorder.     It  was  evident  that  he 

had  not  slept  all  night,  and  he  was  in  a  wretched  humor. 

It  was  an  inopportune  time  to  discuss  so  important  a 

18 


274  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

subject  as  Bertha's  future,  but  the  poor  woman  was 
impatient  to  unbosom  herself  of  the  troublesome  secret. 

"  Can  you  listen  to  me  a  moment,  Isaac  ?"  she  said, 
after  she  had  expressed  her  surprise  at  her  husband's 
haggard  appearance. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"The  worst  has  come  to  pass.  August  Kern  has 
proposed  marriage  to  Bertha." 

Isaac  sprang  up  in  anger. 

"Must  this  happen  to  me,  too?"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Have  I  not  trouble  enough,  without  this  ?  Oh,  God, 
how  hast  thou  punished  me  !" 

"  Blame  yourself,  Isaac,  and  not  God.  I  warned 
you  often  enough,  and  if  you  had  not  been  so  blind, 
you  would  have  noticed  -it  for  yourself." 

"  And  does  she  love  him  ?" 

"  I  think  not.  She  does  not  know  her  own  mind. 
August  will  be  here  to-day  to  see  you  and  get  his 
answer." 

"  He  shall  never  have  her — never !  Do  you  hear 
me  ?  I  am  responsible  to  her  father  for  her  welfare, 
and  you  know  what  it  would  mean  to  him  if  she  were 
to  marry  a  Gentile.  Are  there  no  young  men  of  our 
faith,  that  she  should  become  enamoured  of  a  Catholic  ?" 

"  It  is  your  own  fault,  Isaac.  You  shut  yourself  up 
with  your  books  and  left  her  to  her  own  devices. 
Instead  of  putting  an  end  to  Kern's  visits  when  I 
warned  you,  you  simply  allowed  matters  to  take  their 
course.  I  did  all  I  could  to  prevent  it.  It  is  all  your 
fault." 

Isaac  stormed  like  a  madman  at  this  accusation.    Good 


The  Proposal.  275 

God !  was  he  to  have  another  crime  fastened  upon  his 
shoulders?  Had  he  not  enough  to  bear?  No,  this 
marriage  should  not  take  place.  He  would  prevent  it, 
by  fair  means  or  foul. 

"  Send  Bertha  to  me,"  he  cried.  "  I  must  speak  to 
her.  She  will  listen  to  reason." 

Bertha  soon  appeared.  She,  too,  had  passed  a  sleep- 
less night.  Isaac  became  calmer  at  her  aspect.  He 
seized  her  hand  and  gazed  long  and  lovingly  into  her 
eyes. 

"  Bertha,  tell  me,"  he  asked ;  "  you  do  not  love  him  ? 
You  do  not  want  to  marry  him  ?" 

"  I  like  him,  but  had  no  thought  of  love,"  she 
answered. 

"My  dear,  it  would  break  my  heart  to  see  you 
wedded  to  a  Christian.  The  blame  would  be  mine. 
Your  father  would  die  of  grief,  and,  in  dying,  would 
curse  us  both.  Could  you  be  happy  with  your  father's 
curse  resting  on  you  ?" 

Bertha  sighed,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  Tell  him  frankly  that  you  cannot  marry  him.  You 
will  soon  learn  to  forget  him." 

"Why  would  it  be  so  wrong,  Isaac,  for  me  to  marry 
a  Gentile?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  It  is  because  of  the  difference  in  our  religious  beliefs. 
We  have  but  one  God,  while  they  worship  a  Jew,  whom 
they  call  the  Son  of  God,  and  a  Jewess,  whom  they  call 
the  Mother  of  God.  You  would  never  understand  it, 
my  dear,  and  it  would  make  you  very  unhappy." 

"  But,  laying  religion  aside,  could  we  not  be  happy 
together?" 


276  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  You  cannot  lay  your  religion  aside.  It  is  a  part  of 
yourself.  I  speak  from  experience.  I  have  tried  very 
hard  to  become  a  Catholic,  and  am  now  more  a  Jew 
than  ever." 

"You?" 

"  Yes.     I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day." 

"  But  he  loves  me." 

"He  must  learn  to  forget  you.  Listen,  Bertha! 
You  know  Joe  Labeman  ?" 

"  The  widower  ?     Yes." 

"  He  is  no  widower,  although  the  world  thinks  him 
so.  He  is  divorced  from  his  wife,  who  is  a  Gentile." 

Bertha  opened  her  eyes  in  amazement. 

"  Yes ;  he  married  her  when  there  were  few  Jewish 
girls  in  this  country  to  choose  from.  She  was  very  beau- 
tiful, and  he  was  desperately  in  love  with  her.  He  was 
a  pious  man,  and  from  the  day  of  their  wedding  their 
troubles  began.  She  spoke  of  him  as  '  My  Jew/ 
She  laughed  at  his  Jewish  customs  and  ceremonials,  and 
tried  to  substitute  her  own.  His  sacred  holidays  were 
neglected,  while  hers  were  religiously  observed.  His 
daughter  was  baptized  against  his  express  desires,  and 
when  he  wanted  to  follow  the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart, 
and  bring  up  his  son  a  Jew,  she  objected  and  threatened 
to  take  her  life.  Ah,  my  dear,  you  will  never  know 
what  the  poor  man  suffered !  One  day  he  was  taken 
seriously  ill.  They  thought  that  death  was  imminent, 
and  ten  of  his  friends  came  to  say  the  '  shema '  at  his 
bedside.  I  was  there  at  the  time.  In  one  corner  stood 
his  wife,  counting  the  beads  of  her  rosary,  praying  to 
Jesus  for  help.  What  a  moment  of  agony  for  a  pious 


The  Proposal.  277 

Jew !  He  recovered  from  his  illness,  but  his  unhappi- 
ness  increased,  and  did  not  cease  until  he  obtained  a 
divorce.  I've  no  doubt  his  poor  wife  suffered  the  same 
torments  while  they  lived  together." 

Bertha  listened  with  all  her  soul.  Long  spoke  Isaac 
in  the  same  strain,  using  all  his  eloquence  to  convince 
the  girl  of  the  dreadful  importance  of  this  step.  He 
depicted  in  sombre  colors  the  grief  and  despair  of  her 
poor  parents  when  they  heard  of  it ;  how  they  would 
say  "  kaddisch,"  as  though  she  were  dead.  His  argu- 
ments were  potent.  Bertha,  as  yet,  felt  but  friendship 
for  her  admirer ;  but  sympathy,  if  left  without  an  anti- 
dote, would  soon  have  awakened  love  within  her  heart. 
Religious  sentiment,  however,  predominated  over  every 
feeling,  and,  recognizing  the  justice  of  her  brother's 
reasoning,  she  promised  to  see  Kern  no  more. 

"  When  he  comes,  brother,"  she  added,  "  you  must 
speak  to  him.  Tell  him  all  you  have  told  me,  and  I 
am  sure  his  good  sense  will  prompt  him  how  to  act." 

Isaac  was  in  an  irritable  mood  all  day.  In  the  light 
of  his  sister's  danger,  now  happily  averted,  his  own 
momentary  alienation  from  Judaism  appeared  all  the 
more  terrible.  He  reproached  himself  bitterly  for 
having  dared  to  think  of  becoming  an  apostate.  The 
advice  he  had  given  his  sister,  and  the  pictures  he  had 
drawn  for  her  guidance,  came  home  to  him  with  telling 
force.  The  more  he  reflected,  the  more  he  became 
strengthened  in  his  determination  to  confess  his  crime 
and  take  the  consequences.  He  would  wait  until  morn- 
ing, and  then  put  an  end  to  indecision  by  confessing  all 
to  his  wife  and  sister. 


278  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

August  Kern  called  in  the  evening  and  was  at  once 
shown  up  to  Schwartz's  room.  The  poor  fellow  had 
had  another  stormy  interview  with  his  mother,  who 
implored  him  to  think  of  the  salvation  of  his  own  soul, 
if  not  of  her  happiness.  He  was  in  a  desperate  frame 
of  mind. 

The  consultation  was  long  and  earnest.  Isaac  em- 
ployed the  same  arguments  he  had  used  with  Bertha, 
and  added  numerous  incidents  tending  to  prove  that 
mixed  marriages  were  rarely  happy.  To  Kern's  sur- 
prise, he  confessed  how  he  had  been  on  the  point  of 
becoming  a  Christian,  but  how  the  radical  differences 
between  the  two  creeds  had  prevented  the  step. 

"  But  I  could  become  a  Jew,"  suggested  Kern,  with 
new  hope. 

"  Xo ;  it  would  be  difficult.  Our  religion  makes  few 
proselytes.  Do  you  know  what  you  would  be  taking 
upon  yourself  by  becoming  a  Jew  ?  You  would  have  to 
cast  off  all  the  associations  which  make  your  life  pleas- 
ant, would  have  to  abjure  your  Saviour  and  the  thou- 
sand religious  observances  which  you  have  been  taught 
to  revere  since  your  birth.  You  would  voluntarily  invite 
the  scorn  of  the  world.  You  would  be  forced  to  throw 
your  lot  with  a  race  which  has  for  centuries  been  branded 
with  the  stigma  of  deicides,  and  for  whom  no  contumely, 
no  degradation  has  been  thought  sufficiently  severe.  No, 
friend  Kern,  it  woidd  be  as  difficult  for  you  to  become 
a  Jew  as  it  has  been  for  me  to  become  a  Christian. 
Give  up  the  idea.  Let  not  love,  but  your  good  com- 
mon sense,  win  the  victory  to-day.  Accept  your  uncle's 
offer,  and  make  your  fortune." 


The  Proposal.  279 

Kern  hung  his  head  in  silence. 

"You  have  an  old  mother  to  support,"  continued 
Isaac,  "  whose  staff  and  comfort  you  are.  It  is  your  duty 
to  make  her  declining  years  happy.  You  cannot  take  a 
Jewish  wife  without  causing  her  boundless  grief.  Some 
day,  when  you  have  seen  more  of  the  world,  you  will 
marry  one  of  your  own  faith,  one  who  worships  the 
same  Christ  whom  you  adore,  and  who  will  secure  you 
peace  and  contentment.  Then  you  will  perhaps  wonder 
how  you  could  have  ever  bestowed  more  than  a  passing 
thought  upon  a  Jewess." 

"  Does  Bertha  think  as  you  do  ?  " 

"Yes.  She  bids  you  go  to  your  uncle  and  forget 
her." 

There  was  a  sorrowful  firmness  in  Kern's  voice,  as  he 
replied : 

"  I  will  go.  I  haven't  the  courage  to  see  her  again. 
Tell  her  that  I  say  good-by.  May  God  bless  her." 

"  If  ever  you  need  a  friend — "  said  Isaac. 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  Kern  had  seized 
his  hat  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE  CONFESSION. 

"  There  is  no  future  pang 
Can  deal  that  justice  on  the  self-condemned 
He  deals  on  his  own  soul." — Byron. 

THE  sun  rose  majestically  on  the  morning,  filling  all 
the  world  with  joy  and  splendor.  Warm  and  cheerful 
it  shone  into  Isaac's  bedroom,  and  awakened  him  to  the 
cares  and  responsibilities  of  life.  He  felt  in  better 
spirits  than  he  had  for  days.  The  happy  termination 
of  Bertha's  affair,  and  his  own  signal  victory  over  the 
dangers  of  apostasy,  had  lifted  a  burden  from  his  heart. 

"  The  sun  shines  upon  me,"  he  said,  "  as  though  I 
were  a  man  without  sin  or  stain.  Perhaps  God,  too,  has 
a  smile  of  pardon  for  me." 

He  found  Lena  and  the  children  waiting  for  him  at 
the  breakfast-table.  Bertha  appeared  contented,  and  in 
no  way  expressed  regret  at  the  step  she  had  taken,  and 
Isaac  felt  grateful.  After  breakfast,  he  called  his  wife 
and  sister  into  his  bedroom,  and  closing  the  door,  he 
courageously  began  to  unbosom  himself  of  his  awful 
secret. 

Human  nature  is  a  complex  affair,  displaying  strange 
inconsistencies.  But  a  day  or  two  ago,  the  very  sugges- 
tion of  a  confession  had  thrown  this  man  into  a  convul- 

280 


The  Confession.  281 

sion  of  fear  and  hesitation.  To-day  he  faced  the  ordeal, 
not  only  with  courage,  bat  with  a  feeling  akin  to  exalta- 
tion. What  a  world  of  misery  he  would  have  spared 
himself  had  he  taken  this  resolution  years  ago  ! 

"You  have  noticed,"  he  began  boldly,  "that  since  my 
return  from  the  West  I  have  been  unhappy  and  misera- 
ble— that  I  have  been  burdened  by  a  weight  of  woe, 
which  at  times  threatened  to  drive  me  insane.  I  know 
it  worried  you,  I  could  see  it  in  your  faces,  but  I  had 
not  the  heart  to  explain  the  cause  of  my  sorrow." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Lena,  "  you  will  never 
know  what  anxiety  and  wretchedness  your  condition 
caused  me,  nor  how  often  I  tried  to  guess  the  cause  of 
your  broodings." 

"  You  could  not  have  guessed  it,  Lena ;  it  was  too 
terrible.  The  time  has  come  when  I  feel  impelled  to 
tell  you  all,  to  relieve  my  mind  of  its  burden.  Lena, 
Bertha,  don't  shrink  from  me  in  horror.  I  am  a  mur- 
derer ! " 

The  accusing  word  was  uttered  with  a  sob  of  mingled 
grief  and  remorse.  A  host  of  cruel  recollections  were 
awakened  within  his  soul,  and  for  a  time  his  emotions 
mastered  him. 

"  A  murderer ! "  cried  Lena,  in  alarm.  "  My  God, 
Isaac,  what  have  you  done  ?  " 

The  truth  seemed  more  terrible  than  she  had  even 
conjectured  it. 

Isaac  sat  for  awhile  with  his  face  buried  hi  his  hands. 
The  worst  was  over.  After  a  painful  pause,  he  man- 
aged to  tell  his  sorrowful  story.  He  spared  not  a 
single  detail.  He  related  minutely  his  every  act 


282  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

from  the  day  he  started  for  the  gold  fields  to  the  hour 
of  his  return.  He  recounted  the  petty  tyrannies  to 
which  he  was  exposed,  the  persecutions  he  was  com- 
pelled to  endure,  at  the  hands  of  the  unsympathetic 
miners.  He  described  his  relations  towards  Sweeny, 
and  the  terror  with  which  the  intoxicated  wretch  in- 
spired him.  He  told  with  graphic  vividness  the  inci- 
dents of  that  terrible  evening  in  which  he  had  killed 
his  enemy.  As  he  spoke,  his  wife  and  sister  were  car- 
ried in  imagination  to  the  spot,  and  witnessed  the 
hideous  struggle  and  its  bloody  termination. 

"  I  killed  him,"  cried  Isaac—"  I  killed  him ;  but  God 
knows  it  was  not  premeditated  murder.  A  moment 
afterwards  I  would  have  gladly  sacrificed  my  life  to 
recall  that  of  the  murdered  man." 

He  paused  in  his  narration  and  looked  at  his  wife. 
She  was  weeping  silently. 

Bertha  had  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  brother  in  mute 
bewilderment  as  he  spoke.  Her  soul  went  out  in  ten- 
derness to  this  harassed  man,  and  when  he  had  finished 
speaking,  she  drew  near  to  him  and  pressed  his  hand  in 
sympathy. 

"  Lena,"  he  cried,  "  you  will  not  shrink  from  me  ? 
You  will  not  despise  the  murderer  ?  " 

"Despise  you?  Shrink  from  you ?"  she  cried.  "Are 
you  not  my  beloved  husband  ?  You  are  not  as  great 
a  sinner  as  you  have  imagined.  The  law  authorizes 
killing  in  self-defence,  and  in  the  eyes  of  justice  you 
are  no  criminal  at  all." 

"  I  only  wonder,"  said  Bertha,  her  face  aglow  with 
indignation,  "how  you  could  have  refrained  so  long 


The  Confession.  283 

from  killing  the  brute.  Had  I  been  in  your  place,  I 
should  have  disposed  of  him  when  he  first  discharged 
his  revolver  at  me." 

"Oh,  the  misery  I  endured  all  these  years  at  the 
thought  that  I  had  killed  one  of  God's  children ! " 
sighed  Isaac.  "  I  saw  his  spectre  by  day  and  by  night. 
It  left  me  no  peace  of  mind,  no  rest.  Life  became  a 
burden  to  me." 

"  Why  did  you  not  confide  in  me,  your  wife  ?  " 

"  I  dared  not,  Lena ;  I  feared  you  would  shun  me." 

"  How  little  you  know  the  heart  of  a  loving  wife ! 
Have  not  women  clung  to  assassins  and  loved  them  in 
spite  of  their  most  cold-blooded  and  atrocious  crimes? 
And  should  I  desert  my  husband  because  out  of  love 
for  me  he  exposed  himself  to  the  dangers  of  an  uncivil- 
ized land,  and  because  he  preserved  his  life  at  the  cost 
of  another's  worthless  existence  ?  Oh,  I  wanted  so  to 
comfort  you  in  your  misery,  but  you  obstinately  closed 
your  heart  against  me,  and  would  not  let  me  share  your 
troubles." 

This  was  a  revelation  to  poor  Isaac.  He  took  his 
wife  lovingly  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"  There  was  the  money,  too,"  he  continued.  "  I  had 
that  upon  my  conscience.  When  I  knew  that  Sweeny 
was  dead  I  took  the  gold — his  share  and  mine — and 
carried  it  away.  That  money  has  been  a  curse  to  me. 
It  brought  me  nothing  but  misery.  Shall  I  confess  it  ? 
My  charities  were  not  prompted  by  the  desire  to  do 
good,  but  for  the  sole  purpose  of  getting  rid  of  the  gold 
that  was  eating  into  my  heart." 

"  There  again  your  reasoning  was  wrong,"  answered 


284  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Lena.  "  Had  you  left  the  gold,  it  would  undoubtedly 
have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  some  one  who  had  less 
claim  to  it  than  yourself.  It  has  been  applied  to  its 
best  possible  use.  It  has  gladdened  the  hearts  of  the 
poor,  has  alleviated  suffering,  and  has  been  a  blessing." 

"  To  all  but  me,"  answered  Isaac,  gloomily. 

"Alas,  how  you  must  have  suffered  !"  cried  Bertha. 

"God  only  knows  what  my  sufferings  have  been. 
For  more  than  two  years  my  life  has  been  a  hideous 
nightmare,  without  a  ray  of  hope  or  happiness.  I  tried 
in  every  way  to  relieve  my  conscience — " 

"  Every  way  but  the  right  way,"  interrupted  Lena. 
"  You  should  have  confided  in  me,  and  then  gone  to  the 
authorities  and  confessed  your  wrong." 

"  But  the  trial,  Lena,  the  inevitable  punishment.  I 
could  not  endure  the  thought  of  bringing  the  disgrace 
upon  you." 

Isaac  winced  and  turned  pale  even  now  at  the 
thought  of  the  disgraceful  court  scene  and  imprison- 
ment. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  cried  Lena,  with  conviction. 
"  There  would  have  been  no  trial,  no  disgrace.  You 
would  have  said  to  the  judges,  '  Here  was  a  man  who 
on  several  occasions  tried  to  kill  me.  I  bore  with  him 
until  the  danger  became  imminent.  Then  I  rose,  like  a 
man,  and  defended  my  life.'  You  would  not  have  ap- 
peared like  a  criminal,  but  like  a  hero." 

"  I  often  tried  to  take  that  view  of  it,  but  my  guilt 
and  subsequent  remorse  seemed  to  have  weakened  my 
reasoning  powers.  I  was  conscious  of  but  one  thing — 
namely,  that  I  was  a  murderer,  and  that  God  had  no 


The  Confession.  285 

mercy,  no  atonement  for  such  as  I.  In  my  desperation 
I  was  on  the  point  of  committing  another  wrong." 

"Another  wrong/'  repeated  Lena,  in  alarm. 

"Yes,  that  of  becoming  a  Catholic.  My  charities 
led  me  to  the  house  of  Father  Kelly.  There  I  learned 
of  the  doctrine  of  a  Saviour  of  souls.  So  great  was  the 
weight  of  my  guilt  that  I  longed  to  cast  the  burden 
upon  another.  I  contemplated  the  adoption  of  Chris- 
tianity as  a  means  of  finding  atonement  for  my  crime." 

"  Isaac !  You  a  Christian  ?  "  cried  his  wife,  in  dis- 
may. 

"  It  is  all  over,  Lena.  It  was  but  the  dream  of  a 
moment.  It  is  a  comfortable  creed  for  him  who  can 
place  implicit  belief  in  it ;  but  I  could  not  understand 
it — or  rather,  I  understood  it  too  well." 

"  Surely  our  time-honored  religion  holds  out  as  much 
consolation  as  does  the  Gentile  belief,"  said  Lena.  "A 
religion  which  has  lived  and  flourished  through  four 
thousand  years,  and  made  countless  millions  happy, 
must  be  able  to  afford  relief  to  a  sin-oppressed  soul." 

"  It  must  be  so,"  replied  Isaac,  reflectively.  "  In  my 
misery  I  had  no  patience  with  the  rational  doctrine  that 
man  must  work  out  his  own  salvation.  It  is  my  inten- 
tion to  go  at  once  to  Rabbi  Kauffman  and  tell  him  all  I 
have  told  you.  He  will  instruct  me  in  that  religion  to 
which  I  have  become  a  stranger.  I  will  find  solace  and 
atonement  in  Judaism.  My  soul  must  first  be  cleansed 
of  its  iniquity." 

"And  then?"  asked  Bertha, 

"  Then,"  continued  Isaac,  with  resolution — "  then  I 
shall  go  to  the  authorities,  confess  my  crime,  and  take 


286  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

the  consequences.  I  must  first  feel  that  God  lias 
pardoned  me.  My  wife  knows  of  my  guilt  and  has 
forgiven  me.  What  care  I,  then,  if  all  the  world  con- 
demn me  ?  " 

"The  world  will  judge  as  I  have  judged,"  said  Lena, 
while  Isaac  held  her  to  his  heart  in  a  passionate  em- 
brace. 

Long  spoke  they  of  the  crime  and  its  influence. 
Bertha  and  Lena  had  a  hundred  questions  to  ask,  and 
when  the  conference  came  to  an  end  Isaac  felt  no  longer 
like  an  assassin,  but  like  a  hero,  who  had  made  a  bold 
strike  for  life  and  honor  and  was  secure  in  the  world's 
approval. 

In  the  afternoon  he  called  on  Rabbi  Kauffman. 
That  worthy  man  was  sitting  in  his  comfortable  study, 
patiently  striving  to  initiate  his  son  Ben  into  the  mys- 
teries of  Hebrew,  much  to  Ben's  disgust,  for  it  was  a 
fine  day,  and  there  was  more  actual  pleasure  to  be  found 
in  the  street  playing  marbles  than  at  home  conjugating 
Hebrew  verbs. 

Ben  was  not  sorry,  therefore,  when  Mr.  Schwartz 
entered  and  asked  the  Rabbi  for  an  hour's  interview. 
He  was  straightway  dismissed,  and  rushed  out  of  doors 
before  the  edict  could  be  revoked. 

Into  the  astonished  Rabbi's  ear  Isaac  poured  the  story 
of  his  misdeeds.  He  spared  no  essential  detail.  At 
the  close  of  the  narration  the  Rabbi  sat  back  in  his  chair 
for  a  while  without  speaking.  Then  he  said  : 

"  I  think  you  have  made  yourself  miserable  unne- 
cessarily. You  killed  a  man  under  a  strong  provocation, 
and  in  self-defence.  The  law  will  not  hold  you  guilty. 


The  Confession.  287 

A  man  would  be  less  than  human  who  would  allow 
himself  to  be  slain  without  a  protest — without  using 
the  means  at  hand  to  defend  himself.  Self-preservation 
is  heaven's  first  law." 

Isaac  then  related  his  narrow  escape  from  apostasy. 
Rabbi  Kauffman  listened  to  his  story  in  a  state  of 
bewilderment. 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,"  he  ejaculated,  "  what  could 
have  induced  you  to  seek  heavenly  pardon  outside  of 
your  own  religion  ?  Is  not  Judaism  able  to  take  care 
of  the  spiritual  welfare  of  its  children  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,  Rabbi,  if  I  lay  a  portion  of  the  blame 
of  my  infidelity  upon  you." 

"  Upon  me  ?" 

"Yes;  indirectly,  of  course.  I  returned  from  the 
West  with  a  terrible  burden  upon  my  conscience.  I 
had  killed  a  human  being  and  had  profited  financially 
by  his  death.  I  was  afraid  of  the  law,  but  I  was  still 
more  afraid  of  the  anger  of  God.  Moral  coward  that 
I  was,  I  believed  that  a  prayer  from  my  lips  would  be 
blasphemy;  that  there  was  no  pardon  for  my  crime. 
For  a  time  I  neglected  the  synagogue ;  I  was  a  Jew  in 
name  only.  One  day  I  went  to  hear  you  preach.  It 
was  the  Day  of  Atonement  and  the  anniversary  of  my 
crime.  You  spoke  of  the  possibility  of  pardon  for  every 
crime  but  murder.  How  I  yearned  for  one  word  of 
consolation,  for  one  ray  of  hope  to  cheer  me  on  my 
dreary  way !  You  denied  me  every  comfort.  '  For  the 
murderer,'  you  said,  '  there  is  no  atonement/  Those 
terrible  words  plunged  me  down  the  abyss  of  despair. 
I  tried  to  reason  them  away,  to  convince  myself  that 


288  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

God  could  not  be  less  just  than  man.  I  proposed  to 
you  a  union  of  friends  to  study  the  Talmud.  I  desired 
to  find  a  passage,  a  rabbinical  decision  which  bore  upon 
my  case  and  held  out  a  hope  of  pardon.  Here  again  I 
was  doomed  to  disappointment.  I  again  heard  the 
awful  sentence  pronounced,  '  For  the  murderer  there  is 
no  atonement.'  Is  it  a  wonder,  Rabbi,  that  I  despaired 
of  finding  peace  and  redemption  in  Judaism ;  that  I 
sought  for  it  in  the  Gentile  faith,  which  bade  me  cast 
my  sins  upon  another  and  be  forgiven  ?" 

"  Alas !"  cried  the  Rabbi,  sadly,  "  that  I  should  have 
been  so  grievously  misunderstood.  It  is  true  that  the 
Day  of  Atonement  holds  out  no  forgiveness,  where  the 
wrongdoer  and  his  victim  have  not  become  reconciled, 
and  hence  murder  is  without  the  pale  of  atonement. 
But  the  Jewish  law  does  not  look  upon  your  deed  as 
murder.  Here,  in  Numbers,  chapter  xxxv.,"  he 
said,  opening  the  Scriptures,  "  Moses,  after  enumerating 
the  various  kinds  of  murder,  says,  ( But  if  he  thrust 
him  suddenly,  without  enmity,  or  have  cast  upon  him 
anything,  without  lying  in  wait,  such  a  man  is  no  mur- 
derer, but  shall  find  safeguard  in  the  City  of  Refuge.' 
Killing  in  self-defence  is  no  murder ;  it  is,  in  a  measure, 
a  retribution  for  another's  crime.  If  the  Jewish  law 
does  not  punish  such  a  malefactor,  Judaism  would  surely 
not  deprive  him  of  the  hope  of  divine  mercy." 

"  Oh,  why  did  I  not  know  this  before  !"  sighed  Isaac. 
"From  what  unspeakable  agony  it  would  have  saved 
me." 

"  Let  us  look  into  the  Mishna,"  continued  the  Rabbi, 
opening  his  folios.  "Here  we  read,  in  chapter  ix.,  that 


The  Confession.  289 

unless  the  blow  was  delivered  with  the  intention  of 
killing,  it  is  not  considered  murder.  Where  the  blow 
was  directed  to  one  portion  of  the  body  and  caused 
death  by  affecting  another,  the  crime  was  not  punished. 
Here,  again,  we  see  it  is  only  cold-blooded  and  deliber- 
ate murder  which  is  punishable.  The  Jews  never  con- 
sidered God  less  merciful  than  man.  No,  friend 
Schwartz,  we  believe  that  God  is  a  God  of  mercy,  long- 
suffering  and  forgiving.  My  language  may  have  been 
a  little  severe  on  the  occasions  referred  to,  but  I  meant 
to  discuss  only  deliberate  murder." 

"  But  even  to  such  an  assassin  the  Christian  religion 
has  a  prospect  of  salvation." 

"  So  has  Judaism ;  but  it  is  not  found  in  blind 
faith  nor  in  vicarious  atonement.  Our  Eabbis  teach 
that  subsequent  trials  and  good  deeds  have  the  power 
to  absolve  from  any  sin,  however  great.  Deep  suffer- 
ing is  in  itself  a  regeneration,  an  initiation  into  a 
state  of  grace.  The  cruel  memories,  agonized  regrets 
and  bitter  struggles  which  conscience  imposes,  are  an 
atonement.  They  purify  the  soul  and  efface  the  evil. 
No  need  of  faith,  no  need  of  blind  belief,  to  acquire 
salvation.  Where  trials  have  followed  in  the  train  of 
crime,  these  will  insure  God's  forgiveness." 

"  What  a  simple  belief !"  cried  Isaac. 

"  And  yet  how  rational,"  answered  the  Rabbi.  "  No 
one  can  bear  our  sins  for  us.  We  must  bear  the  penalty 
of  our  acts,  and  therefore  trials  and  noble  deeds  alone 
have  the  power  to  compensate  for  the  evil  done." 

"  And  so  I  have  been  torturing  myself  needlessly  all 
these  years,  leading  a  life  of  martyrdom." 
19 


290  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"Your  very  misery,  coupled  with  your  deeds  of 
charity,  have  washed  away  your  sins.  Before  God  you 
are  clean.  He  can  and  does  forgive  his  erring  children, 
without  the  intervention  of  a  crucified  Son." 

"Rabbi,"  replied  the  grateful  man,  "you  do  not 
know  what  a  load  you  have  taken  from  my  heart.  To 
think  that  I  was  on  the  point  of  exchanging  this  beau- 
ful  religion  for  one  which  would  have  been  at  war  with 
my  intelligence." 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  Rabbi,  musingly,  "  the  Chris- 
tian religion  is  very  beautiful.  It  is  built  upon  all  that 
is  noble  in  Judaism,  and,  to  those  who  have  been  edu- 
cated in  it,  it  is  soul-inspiring  and  consoling.  Religion 
is,  after  all,  but  an  accident  of  birth,  and,  while  some 
few  individuals  succeed  in  breaking  from  its  bounds, 
the  masses  are  content  to  believe  as  their  parents 
believed.  Would  that  all  religions  were  more  tolerant 
one  towards  the  other,  for  they  all  have  their  origin  in 
a  belief  in  the  one  God." 

Isaac  rose  to  go. 

"  Rabbi,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  come  again.  Teach  me 
more  about  the  glorious,  rational  and  comprehensible 
creed  of  my  fathers." 

"  So  be  it,"  answered  the  Rabbi,  deeply  moved. 
"  But  you  have  still  a  trial  before  you — the  greatest  of 
them  all.  Deliver  yourself  up  to  the  authorities,  con- 
fess your  crime,  and  abide  by  their  decision." 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  go  to  the  chief  of  police.  I  am 
at  peace  with  my  God  and  with  myself,  and  I  yearn  to 
be  at  peace  with  all  mankind." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE   REUNION. 

"  The  drying  up  a  single  tear  has  more 
Of  honest  fame  than  shedding  seas  of  gore." — Byron. 

AT  eight  o'clock  that  same  evening  there  was  a  vigor- 
ous and  continuous  ringing  at  the  front  door  bell  of 
Schwartz's  house,  and  Father  Kelly  entered.  Isaac 
received  him  with  some  misgivings.  "  He  is  coming 
to  remind  me  of  my  neglected  studies,"  he  thought. 
"  How  shall  I  tell  him  that  I  have  changed  my  mind?" 

To  his  surprise,  however,  the  priest  did  not  allude  to 
the  subject  of  baptism. 

"  Are  you  at  leisure  this  evening,  Mr.  Schwartz?"  he 
asked,  after  mutual  greetings  had  passed. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  I  have  a  mission  for  you.  I  know  you  are  too 
charitably  inclined  to  refuse." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  desire  me  to  do." 

"  I  have  just  come  from  a  wretched  abode  on  Oak 
Street,  where  I  found  a  family  reduced  to  the  greatest 
poverty.  The  man  lies  ill  in  bed  with  a  fever,  while  his 
wife  and  child  appear  to  be  starving." 

"  Good  heavens !  "  cried  Isaac,  pulling  a  roll  of  bills 
from  his  pocket.  "Here,  Father  Kelly,  take  this  to 
them.  Here  is  enough  to  satisfy  them  for  some  time." 

291 


292  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Father  Kelly  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  not  money  they  want.  I  have  relieved  their 
momentary  needs.  But  the  man,  although  he  is  a  Cath- 
olic, desires  to  see  an  Israelite.  He  believes  his  end  is 
approaching,  and  says  he  cannot  die  in  peace  until  he 
has  made  a  confession  to  a  Jew." 

Isaac  seized  his  hat. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  at  once,"  he  said ;  and  the  two  men 
passed  out  into  the  street. 

Oak  Street  was  but  a  short  distance  away,  and  the 
place,  a  squalid,  dingy  tenement,  was  soon  reached. 
Isaac  paused  in  painful  surprise,  as  the  priest  pointed 
out  the  house.  It  was  the  same  in  which  he  had  dwelt 
when  he  first  came  to  America,  the  same  in  which  we 
made  his  acquaintance. 

The  priest  led  the  way  up  several  flights  of  stairs,  and 
opening  a  door,  ushered  his  companion  into  the  little 
room.  How  vividly  did  Isaac  recall  the  painful  past ! 
There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it.  This  was  the  same 
room  in  wrhich  he  and  Lena  had  lived  and  suffered. 
There  was  no  change  in  its  appearance,  except  that  its 
walls  looked  dirtier,  its  bare  floors  more  dilapidated 
than  formerly.  There  was  the  broken  table  at  which 
he  had  sat  when  his  wife  had  called  him  by  that  hateful 
name  "  Shlemiel."  There  was  the  same  bed  in  which 
he  had  received  his  inspiration  to  try  his  luck  in  the 
West.  Nothing  had  changed  except  the  inmates,  and  to 
these  Isaac  now  directed  his  attention. 

On  the  bed  lay  a  pale,  sallow-visaged  man,  with  his 
eyes  closed.  By  his  side,  holding  his  hand,  sat  a  thin- 
faced,  little  woman,  while  on  the  mattress  in  the  corner, 


The  Eeunion.  293 

covered  by  a  counterpane,  slept  a  child  of  uncertain  age. 
The  woman  rose  when  the  priest  entered,  and  advanced 
to  meet  him. 

"How  is  he?"  asked  Father  Kelly. 

"Better,  your  Reverence.  The  tonic  you  brought 
has  revived  him,  but  he  is  still  busy  with  the  one 
strange  idea.  He  wants  to  speak  to  a  Jew.  He  is 
asleep  now." 

"  I  have  brought  this  gentleman  with  me.  Perhaps 
he  can  relieve  your  husband  of  his  mental  burden." 

The  woman  held  out  her  hand  in  welcome,  and  Isaac 
stepped  to  the  bed  and  bent  over  the  suffering  man. 
There  was  something  strangely  familiar  in  that  pallid 
face,  with  its  shaggy  beard.  Isaac  gazed  at  him  long 
and  intently,  but  he  could  not  recall  the  features. 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  the  woman, "  how  this  fancy  pur- 
sues him.  I  think  he  would  soon  get  well,  if  he  were 
not  haunted  by  the  one  idea." 

She  put  her  hand  under  the  invalid's  pillow,  and  drew 
out  a  long  strip  of  cloth,  which  had  once  been  white, 
but  with  frequent  handling  had  changed  to  a  color  bor- 
dering on  dirty  gray. 

"  See  this  rag,  your  Reverence,"  she  said.  "  He  has 
carried  it  with  him  for  years.  He  says  it  saved  his  life, 
and  he  cannot  rest  until  he  has  given  it  back  to  the  man 
to  whom  it  belonged.  He  loves  this  rag  as  though  it 
were  a  thing  of  life." 

Isaac  took  the  rag  and  gazed  at  it  intently.     There 

was  a  black  border  at  the  lower  end,  and  a  remnant  of 

fringe.     There  were  several  rusty  spots  upon  it,  which 

,  might  have  been  caused  by  blood.     He  shuddered  as  he 


294  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

handed  it  back  to  the  woman,  for  in  his  mind  there  arose 
the  vision  of  a  murdered  man,  with  a  strip  of  praying 
scarf  wound  about  his  bleeding  temple. 

Suddenly  Isaac  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise.  Was  it 
imagination  or  reality  ?  The  face  of  the  sick  man 
began  to  assume  the  features  of  Sweeny.  Yes,  that 
was  the  same  low  forehead  and  bull-like  neck,  the  same 
reddish  beard  and  sneering  lips  ;  but  how  changed,  how 
wasted  by  illness  and  misery  ! 

At  Isaac's  exclamation,  the  sufferer  opened  his  eyes 
and  glanced  about  him.  Of  a  sudden  he  sat  bolt  up- 
right in  bed,  and  grasped  Schwartz  by  the  hand. 

"Tell  me,"  he  cried,  feebly — "am  I  dreaming? 
Are  you  not  Ike  Black — Sheeny  Ike  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Isaac  was  too  startled  to  reply,  but 
recovering  himself,  he  answered : 

"  They  called  me  Ike  Black  in  the  diggings." 

"  Christ  be  praised ! "  muttered  the  stranger.  "  I 
have  found  him !  Ike,  don't  you  know  me  ?  Don't  you 
know  Dick  Sweeny  ?  " 

Isaac  recoiled.  Was  this  another  cheat  of  the  senses, 
such  as  he  had  so  often  experienced?  Had  the  spectre 
of  the  murdered  man  again  come  to  mock  him,  to 
punish  him  with  terrors  of  remorse  ? 

"  Ike,  don't  shrink  from  me,"  pleaded  the  man. 
"Come  to  me  and  say  you  forgive  me.  Don't  be  afraid 
to  take  my  hand,  Ike." 

It  was  real — Sweeny  was  still  alive!  Isaac  threw 
himself  upon  the  bed  in  a  wild  transport  of  joy,  and 
the  two  men — the  Jew  and  the  Catholic — lay  in  each 
other's  passionate  embrace. 


The  Reunion.  295 

Father  Kelly  and  the  woman  gazed  on  in  silent  mys- 
tification. They  could  not  understand  this  strange 
denouement.  For  some  moments  not  a  word  was 
spoken ;  both  Sweeny  and  Schwartz  were  weeping  in 
each  other's  arms. 

At  length  Schwartz  exclaimed : 

"  Then  you  are  not  dead  ?  God  be  thanked  !  For 
more  than  two  years  I  have  been  leading  a  life  of  self- 
reproach,  believing  that  I  had  murdered  you." 

"  You  murdered  me  ! "  repeated  Sweeny,  in  surprise. 
"What  a  terrible  mistake  !  I,  on  the  other  hand,  have 
been  reproaching  myself  with  being  the  cause  of  your 
disappearance  and  probable  death." 

"  There  is  evidently  some  misunderstanding  between 
us,"  said  Isaac,  trying  to  smile.  "  Since  we  are  both 
alive,  perhaps  a  mutual  explanation  may  relieve  our 
minds.  Tell  me,  Dick — what  do  you  remember  about 
that  terrible  night  when  we  were  together  last  ?  " 

"  I  remember,"  said  Dick,  with  an  effort,  "  your 
patient  endurance  and  your  earnest  endeavors  to  keep 
me  straight.  I  also  remember  that  I  had  been  drinking 
heavily  one  day  at  the  village.  Then  my  memory  is  a 
blank  until  I  awoke  and  found  myself  on  the  floor  of 
the  cabin.  My  head  felt  very  heavy  and  I  could  scarcely 
arise  to  my  feet.  I  called  you,  but  received  no  reply. 
When  I  began  to  examine  myself,  I  found  that  I  had 
been  cut  on  the  head,  and  that  some  one  had  tied  a 
bandage  about  the  wound.  That  bandage  saved  my 
life ;  without  it  I  should  have  bled  to  death.  I  took  it 
off  and  recognized  it  as  a  part  of  your  praying  scarf. 
There  were  more  strips  of  it  scattered  about  the  floor. 


296  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Then  I  understood  your  loving  kindness.  Seeing  me 
wounded,  you  had  torn  up  your  scarf,  which  I  knew 
was  very  precious  to  you,  and  with  the  strips  you  had 
staunched  my  wounds.  It  was  noble  of  you,  Ike." 

"And  what  did  you  suppose  had  become  of  me?" 
asked  Isaac,  surprised  at  the  turn  events  had  taken. 

"  I  could  not  come  to  any  plausible  conclusion  re- 
garding you.  When  I  recovered  sufficiently,  I  stag- 
gered out  into  the  open  air,  and  found  that  the  gold  was 
gone.  Then  I  took  it  for  granted  that  some  of  the 
gang  had  found  out  our  secret  and  had  come  to  rob  us. 
That  accounted  for  my  wound,  and  for  the  fact  that  the 
gold  had  disappeared.  They  had  no  doubt  given  me 
up  for  dead.  It  was  clear  to  me  that  you  must  have 
come  into  the  cabin,  and  seeing  me  insensible,  had  done 
all  in  your  power  to  help  me.  What  became  of  you 
then  I  could  not  guess.  At  times  I  feared  that  the 
gang  might  have  killed  you  and  thrown  your  body  into 
the  creek ;  at  other  times  I  had  an  idea  that,  after 
saving  my  life,  you  must  have  escaped  in  some  manner." 

"Well,  what  did  you  do  when  you  recovered  your 
strength  ?  " 

"  I  became  a  better  man,  Ike.  The  wound  left  me 
very  weak.  Some  of  the  fellows  from  the  village  found 
me  a  couple  of  days  after,  and  nursed  me  through.  I 
had  a  close  call ;  but  when  I  got  well  I  decided  on 
better  things.  In  the  first  place,  I  swore  off  on  John 
Barleycorn.  I  haven't  touched  a  drop  of  liquor  since. 
Next  I  looked  up  my  wife  and  child.  I  had  a  long 
hunt  before  I  found  them ;  they  were  living  in  Colorado 
and  were  very  poor.  In  spite  of  all  my  sins,  Sally  took 


The  Reunion.  297 

me  back  to  her  heart,  and  we  have  been  happy  since. 
Finally  I  started  a  farm  near  Pueblo,  but  I'could  not  rest." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  wanted  to  know  whether  you  were  still  alive.  I 
wanted  to  find  the  man  who  had  preserved  my  life,  and 
whose  spotless  and  humble  way  of  living  was  to  be  the 
pattern  for  my  own  future  existence.  This  desire  gave 
me  no  peace.  The  praying  scarf  I  kept  with  me.  See, 
here  it  is.  I  almost  worshiped  it  as  something  sent  to 
me  by  God.  I  remembered  that  you  told  me  once  you 
came  from  this  town,  and  when  I  could  scrape  enough 
money  together  to  travel,  I  came  on  here  with  Sally 
and  Jim  to  find  you." 

"  But  how  came  you  in  this  unfortunate  condition  ?" 
asked  Schwartz,  deeply  interested. 

"  When  I  arrived,  a  month  ago,  I  had  still  some 
money  left.  I  inquired  for  you  at  the  Mayor's  office, 
but  no  one  knew  of  any  such  person  as  Ike  Black. 
Then  I  was  taken  sick  with  fever.  The  doctor  said  it 
was  malaria.  Gradually  my  money  gave  out,  and  I 
didn't  know  a  soul  in  town.  I  tried  to  get  a  job  at 
anything,  but  was  too  weak  to  work.  Finally  I  found 
shelter  here,  and  have  been  in  bed  ever  since.  I  was 
afraid  I  was  going  to  die  without  seeing  you.  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  Father  Kelly  finding  us,  I  might  be 
dead  now.  God's  ways  are  wonderful.  I'll  soon  be 
better,  Ike,  since  I've  found  you  and  given  you  back 
your  scarf." 

There  was  a  childish  satisfaction  in  the  face  and  ges- 
tures of  the  grizzled  miner,  as  he  stroked  the  hand  of 
his  old  partner. 


298  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Ah,  Ike,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  know  how  happy  I 
am  to  find  you  alive  and  well." 

It  was  now  Isaac's  turn  to  tell  his  version  of  that 
eventful  night.  He  told  everything,  laying  due  stress 
upon  Dick's  conduct  and  upon  his  own  crime.  He 
accused  himself  of  assault  and  of  theft,  and  described, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  the  anguish  and  misery  he  had 
endured  since. 

"  So  you  see,"  he  added,  "  instead  of  being  your  pre- 
server, as  you  imagined,  I  was  in  reality  your  mur- 
derer, for  I  surely  believed  you  dead.  But  you  were 
avenged.  Never  did  assassin  experience  the  tortures 
and  remorse  that  fell  to  my  lot." 

This  was  a  revelation  to  Sweeny.  He  listened  with 
intense  interest  to  every  word. 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  ?"  he  cried,  at  length.  "  It  was 
my  brutality,  my  inhuman  conduct  toward  you,  which 
caused  your  hasty  deed.  I  alone  am  to  blame.  Do  you 
forgive  me,  Ike?  That  was  one  reason  why  I  wanted 
to  find  you  before  I  died.  I  wanted  to  ask  your  pardon 
for  all  the  wrong  I  had  done  you  out  in  the  diggings." 

"  Nonsense,  Dick.  It  is  I  who  must  beg  your  forgive- 
ness for  my  attempt  upon  your  life.  God  be  thanked 
that  His  hand  kept  me  from  being  a  murderer !" 

"  That  blow  made  a  man  of  me,  Ike — a  God- fearing, 
self-respecting  man." 

Father  Kelly,  who  had  been  an  attentive  listener, 
took  part  in  the  conversation,  and  expressed  his  delight 
at  the  happy  termination  of  the  unfortunate  affair. 

"It  is  useless  to  reproach  one  another,"  he  said. 
"  You  were  both  in  the  wrong.  But  the  trial  has  not 


The  Reunion.  299 

been  in  vain ;  for  of  you,  Sweeny,  it  has  made  a  new 
being,  with  the  sense  of  the  duties  of  a  man  and  a 
Catholic,  while  of  Mr.  Schwartz  it  has  made  a  philan- 
thropist, whose  praises  are  sung  by  both  Jew  and 
Gentile." 

"  Whatever  I  possess,"  cried  Isaac,  "  belongs  in  part 
to  Sweeny.  He  shall  share  my  wealth  with  me.  Dick, 
rejoice  !  Your  poverty  is  at  an  end." 

Isaac  related  to  the  astonished  man  how  he  had 
amassed  a  fortune  upon  the  foundation  of  that  sack  of 
gold. 

"  Hurry,  Dick,"  he  said.  "  You  must  get  well,  and 
we  will  share  it." 

"  No,  Ike,"  replied  the  other,  "  it  is  impossible.  The 
money  is  yours.  You  helped  to  toil  and  struggle  for 
it.  The  few  thousand  dollars  you  took  with  you  would 
soon  have  been  dissipated,  had  you  left  them  in  my  pos- 
session. I  could  never  content  myself  in  a  city  like 
this.  I  should  perhaps  fall  back  into  my  former  life. 
Now  that  I  have  seen  you,  I  shall  soon  be  well,  and 
then  I  shall  go  back  to  my  farm  and  pass  the  balance 
of  my  days  in  hard  work,  by  the  side  of  my  faithful 
Sally." 

"  It  will  be  better  so,"  said  his  wife,  tenderly,  kissing 
his  pale  face.  "  We  will  toil  together,  and  make  up  in 
love  and  happiness  for  the  time  we  have  lost." 

An  hour  afterwards  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  squalid 
tenement  on  Oak  Street,  and  Sweeny,  his  wife  and 
child,  were  deposited  into  it.  It  carried  them  to 
Schwartz's  house.  Here  rooms  had  been  prepared  for 
the  new  arrivals,  and  Lena,  who  had  been  apprised  of 


300  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

the  strange  facts,  stood  at  the  door  to  greet  them.  The 
good  woman  embraced  Sally  like  a  sister  and  made  her 
feel  thoroughly  at  home.  Sweeny  was  put  into  a  com- 
fortable bed  and  the  best  doctor  in  the  city  was  called 
to  attend  him. 

"I  came  near  killing  him  once,"  said  Isaac,  with 
tears  of  joy  in  his  eyes ;  "  I  dare  not  lose  him  this  time." 

In  a  week's  time  Dick  was  completely  restored,  and, 
thanks  to  the  kind  treatment  of  their  Jewish  hosts,  the 
entire  Sweeny  family  began  to  improve  wonderfully  in 
appearance. 

Happy  days  were  those  for  Isaac.  A  thousand  times 
did  he  and  Sweeny  revert  to  the  old  days  in  the  mines, 
and  recollections  which  had  been  extremely  painful  to 
the  self-tortured  man  now  became  a  source  of  keen  de- 
light. Forgotten  were  all  the  hardships,  the  petty 
persecutions,  the  ignominy  endured;  there  remained 
but  the  recollection  of  happy  incidents,  and  the  joyful 
certainty  that  the  supposed  dead  had  returned  to  life. 

Sweeny  remained  with  Isaac  for  more  than  a  month. 
He  felt  so  great  a  pleasure  in  being  thus  received  by  a 
noble  and  virtuous  family,  so  keen  an  enjoyment  in  the 
companionship  of  the  once  despised  and  humiliated  Jew, 
that  he  found  it  difficult  to  tear  himself  away,  and  he 
kept  deferring  his  departure  from  week  to  week. 

One  day  he  accompanied  Schwartz  to  the  synagogue, 
and  seemed  deeply  interested  by  what  he  saw  and 
heard. 

"  Do  you  know,  Ike,"  he  said,  when  they  had  re- 
turned, "  I  have  half  a  mind  to  become  a  Jew." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Isaac,  amused. 


The  Reunion.  301 

"  I  don't  know  exactly.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  see 
you  and  your  family  so  happy ;  perhaps  it  is  because  I 
hear  so  much  of  your  deeds  of  charity  and  of  your 
goodness  of  heart.  Then,  too,  I  like  your  ceremonies, 
the  holy  sanctity  of  your  Sabbath.  In  fact,  your  re- 
ligion seems  to  me  so  simple  and  delightful,  your  home 
appears  so  much  superior  to  any  I  have  ever  seen,  that 
it  would  not  require  much  persuasion  to  convert  me  to 
Judaism." 

"  Give  up  the  idea  at  once,  Dick,"  replied  Schwartz, 
seriously.  "  Happiness  is  not  a  matter  of  any  partic- 
ular religion,  but  of  individual  disposition.  You  can 
be  far  more  contented  and  do  more  good  in  the  faith  of 
your  parents  than  in  any  other.  Remain  a  Catholic ; 
but  try  to  be  a  good  Catholic,  for  a  good  Catholic  is 
better  than  an  indifferent  Jew,  and  vice  versa.  There 
is  after  all  but  one  religion,  and  that  is  love  for  God 
and  duty  towards  your  fellow-man." 

On  the  very  day  of  this  conversation  Bishop  Keane 
and  Father  Kelly  paid  Mr.  Schwartz  a  visit. 

"  How  stands  it  with  our  baptism  ? "  asked  the 
bishop.  "  When  can  we  go  ahead  with  the  ceremony  ?  " 

"Your  Reverence  will  pardon  me  if  I  disappoint  you," 
replied  Isaac.  "  I  have  renounced  all  desire  of  becom- 
ing converted." 

The  bishop  and  the  priest  looked  at  each  other  with 
significant  glances. 

"  I  feared  as  much,"  said  Father  Kelly,  sadly. 

"You  see,  your  Reverence,  a  serious  crime  weighed 
heavily  upon  my  conscience,  and  for  a  moment  I 
dreamed  of  seeking  atonement  in  the  Catholic  Church  ; 


302  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

but  a  careful  investigation  convinced  me  that  I  should 
seek  in  vain." 

"Why  in  vain?"  asked  the  bishop.  "The  holy 
church  has  the  power  to  absolve  from  sin.  Jesus  offers 
salvation  to  all  who  come  to  Him." 

"  To  all  who  believe ;  but  I  could  not  believe,  your 
Reverence.  I  sought  for  proof  of  the  divinity  of  Christ, 
but  found  it  not.  Would  you  have  me  become  a  hypo- 
crite by  professing  faith  in  a  thing  I  believe  to  be 
impossible  ?  " 

"You  have  been  misled  by  your  profane  books," 
answered  the  priest.  "  To  me  it  all  appears  so  clear,  so 
beautiful,  that  to  doubt  it  would  be  difficult.  What  a 
grand  conception  is  that  of  the  Almighty  coming  down 
to  earth  to  suffer  for  our  sins  ! " 

"Grand,  perhaps,  if  you  have  been  educated  to  con- 
sider it  so ;  absurd,  when  you  look  at  it  with  the  critical 
eyes  of  unbelief." 

"  There  you  have  the  explanation,"  replied  the  bishop. 
"  Your  unbelief  distorts  the  image  of  the  grandest  spec- 
tacle the  world  has  ever  seen." 

"  Cast  off  your  unbelief,"  exclaimed  the  priest.  "  It 
is  of  the  devil.  Have  faith  in  Christ,  and  all  will 
appear  rational  to  you." 

"  It  must  appear  rational  to  me  before  I  can  have 
faith  in  it.  I  must  have  proof — positive  proof." 

"  Have  you  such  proof  of  the  accuracy  of  your  own 
doctrines  ?  " 

"Yes.  True,  our  Bible  is  filled  with  inaccuracies, 
but  they  scarcely  affect  Judaism.  I  know  that  there  is 
a  God.  My  own  existence  and  the  harmony  in  Nature 


The  Keunion.  303 

tell  me  so  dally.  I  believe  in  Him  as  an  only  God.  I 
know  that  the  patriarchs  were  historical  individuals, 
and  that  I  am  their  descendant.  I  know  that  Moses 
gave  some  excellent  laws  which  are  at  this  remote  age 
the  best  humanity  possesses,  and  I  obey  them.  There- 
fore I  am  a  Jew.  All  this  appeals  to  reason.  It  is 
independent  of  miracle,  of  divine  inspiration  of  the 
Bible,  of  >  misinterpretations  of  the  Scriptures — inde- 
pendent of  any  belief  in  the  supernatural.  To  be  a  true 
Christian,  however,  I  must  place  credence  in  many 
things  which  my  reason  refuses  to  accept  as  possible. 
To  disbelieve  in  a  single  one  of  these  would  make  me  a 
heretic.  Beautiful  as  these  doctrines  appear  to  you,  who 
have  imbibed  them  with  your  mother's  milk,  to  me  they 
are  incomprehensible.  Your  Reverence  will  understand 
therefore  that  I  can  never  become  a  Christian." 

"  But  the  salvation  of  your  soul,  the  forgiveness  of 
your  sins,"  said  the  bishop. 

"  My  religion  holds  out  as  much  consolation  as  does 
your  own.  You  say  to  me,  ( Cast  your  sins  upon  the 
Saviour  and  become  pure  through  faith.'  My  creed 
says,  '  Bear  the  burden  of  your  sins,  and  become  pure 
through  trial  and  affliction.'  You  say,  'Christ  will 
intercede  with  the  Father,  and  your  guilt  will  be  washed 
away.'  My  creed  says,  'Show  the  Lord  a  contrite 
heart  and  a  resolution  to  do  better,  and  He  will  forgive.' 
I  have  found  atonement,  your  Reverence,  in  the  tenets 
of  my  father's  religion." 

The  prelates  arose  to  go.  They  felt  their  disappoint- 
ment keenly,  for  Isaac  had  been  a  promising  neophyte. 
Schwartz  held  out  his  hand  at  parting. 


304  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  Let  us  still  be  friends,"  he  said.  "  Each  can  find 
happiness  in  his  own  way.  To  become  a  convert  I 
would  first  have  to  unlearn  all  I  have  ever  been  taught 
concerning  God,  and  that  would  be  impossible  at  my 
age.  You  see  it  is,  after  all,  a  matter  of  faith,  and  faith- 
is  a  matter  of  birth  and  education." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  replied  the  bishop ;  and 
shaking  the  Israelite  cordially  by  the  hand,  he  and 
Father  Kelly  left  the  house. 

Sweeny  tarried  a  few  weeks  longer,  and  he,  too,  left. 
In  vain  Isaac  offered  him  half  his  wealth  and  a  share  in 
his  vast  business  interests.  Dick  refused.  Isaac  finally 
insisted  upon  his  acceptance  of  ten  thousand  dollars, 
which  he  said  rightfully  belonged  to  him.  Dick  reluct- 
antly accepted  it,  and  with  his  happy  wife  and  child  left 
for  his  farm  in  Colorado. 

For  years  he  corresponded  with  his  old  partner,  and 
his  greatest  aim  was  to  lead  a  life  which  would  make 
him  worthy  of  the  friendship  of  Isaac  Schwartz. 


CHAPTER     XXI. 

THE    GAME  OF  SOLO. 

"A  guardian  angel  o'er  his  life  presiding, 
Doubling  his  pleasures  and  his  cares  dividing." — Rogen. 

ONE  evening,  not  long  after  the  events  just  narrated, 
Rosenheim  invited  Schwartz,  Blumen  and  Bergthal  to 
his  home  for  a  sociable  game  of  solo.  Rosenheim  and 
Bergthal,  since  the  engagement  of  their  children,  had 
become  inseparable.  The  friendship  of  Damon  and 
Pythias  was  commonplace  in  comparison  with  that  ex- 
isting between  these  whilom  foes.  They  were  known 
to  send  each  other  customers,  when  their  own  stock 
failed  to  fill  the  requirements,  and  surely  greater 
friendship  than  this  is  unrecorded  in  profane  history. 
Rosenheim  considered  himself  an  expert  solo  player,  a 
second  Hoyle,  but  his  friends  thought  differently.  He 
had  a  reprehensible  habit  of  forgetting  the  most  essen- 
tial rules  of  the  game,  and  consequently  lost  more 
frequently  than  he  won.  On  such  occasions  he  would 
work  himself  into  a  pitch  of  excitement  ill  befitting 
the  president  of  a  congregation,  and  out  of  all  propor- 
tion to  the  booty  at  stake.  He  was  blissfully  ignorant 
of  his  shortcomings.  His  acquaintances  rarely  refused 
an  invitation  to  play  with  him,  for  they  won  his  money 
20  305 


306  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

and  drank  his  wine  with  the  spirit  of  true  martyrs,  and 
had  an  interesting  and  exciting  time  besides. 

On  this  memorable  evening  quite  a  company  had 
gathered  in  Rosenheim's  parlor.  Besides  the  men  who 
were  playing  in  the  adjoining  den,  there  were  their 
several  wives  and  Bertha  Schwartz.  Lena  was  to  have 
been  one  of  the  party,  but  little  Rose  had  developed 
symptoms  of  fever,  so  slight  that  only  a  mother's 
watchfulness  eould  have  detected  it,  and  Lena  decided 
to  stay  at  home  with  the  child.  There  was  also  present 
Mr.  Louis  Ehrlich,  who  came  ostensibly  to  see  the 
president  about  a  matter  connected  with  the  synagogue, 
but  in  reality  to  bask  in  the  sunlight  of  Bertha's  smiles, 
for  he  had  in  some  mysterious  manner  learned  that  she 
would  be  there.  Ehrlich,  since  we  saw  him  last,  had 
progressed  in  his  love,  but  not  in  his  love-making.  To 
him  there  was  but  one  theme,  and  that  was  Bertha. 
The  beautiful  sunset,  the  picturesque  clouds,  the  majes- 
tic trees,  an  interesting  book,  a  superb  picture,  a  Beeth- 
oven symphony,  were  all  but  variations  of  that  theme, 
and  spoke  of  her  in  varied  ways.  A  boundless  passion 
seized  him  when  in  her  presence.  A  vagne  yearning 
drove  him:  to  her  side,  and  he  realized  how  empty  was 
life  unless  she  would  fill  it  with  her  love.  And  yet, 
alas  1  while  Mr.  Ehrlich  was  not  lacking  in  courage  in 
matters  pertaining  to  commerce,  while  he  was  over-bold 
in  his  dealings  with  the  board  members  of  the  syna- 
gogue, while  he  managed  things  with  a  high  hand  at 
the  club,  yet  he  was  an  arrant  coward  when  in  the 
presence  of  Bertha.  Often  as  he  had  planned  an 
avowal,  he  found  his  heart  shrink  within  him,  and  he 


The  Game  of  Solo.  307 

left  the  field  with  the  battle  unfought,  the  avowal  un- 
spoken. 

If  Bertha  had  bat  given  him  a  little  encouragement — 
some  sign  of  favor  !  But  he  still  could  discover  no- 
thing which  led  him  to  believe  that  she  was  partial  to 
him,  and  he  did  not  desire  to  leave  the  city  in  despair, 
like  poor  Jacoby.  So  he  continued  to  meet  her  at 
the  Harmony,  or  visit  her  at  her  home,  determined  each 
day  to  end  the  suspense ;  but,  when  he  screwed  up  his 
courage  to  the  proposing  point,  one  glance  from  Bertha's 
saucy  eyes  drove  his  blood  back  into  his  heart  and  shat- 
tered his  carefully-planned  compliments  to  the  four 
winds  of  heaven. 

Solo,  the  whist  of  the  Germans,  is  naturally  an  ex- 
citing game,  productive  of  much  noise  and  considerable 
quarreling,  but  the  gentlemen  were  playing  in  an  un- 
usually quiet  manner.  Only  once,  when  Rosenheim  got 
"bait"  on  a  "herz-solo-call,"  was  there  something  like 
an  incipient  revolution  in  the  card-room,  but  the  noise 
soon  subsided. 

The  ladies  were  in  the  adjoining  sitting-room  discuss- 
ing the  all-absorbing  servant-girl  question,  which  even 
at  that  early  day  was  a  topic  of  importance  to  the 
housekeeper.  Mrs.  Rosenheim  was  talking  to  .an  inter- 
ested audience  of  the  manifold  difficulties  she  had  ex- 
perienced in  securing  a  competent  cook.  The  last 
queen  of  the  kitchen  had  shown  herself  utterly  in- 
competent to  grasp  the  mysteries  of  the  Jewish 
cuisine,  and,  in  spite  of  repeated  demonstrations, 
evinced  an  appalling  ignorance  of  the  composition  of 
"shalet"  and  "kugel." 


308  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

There  was  a  general  wagging  of  heads,  for  each  of 
these  ladies  had  a  similar  woeful  tale  to  tell. 

Mrs.  Blumen  related  a  particularly  pathetic  incident 
anent  the  misguided  eiforts  on  the  part  of  her  cook  to 
bake  the  Purim  cakes  in  lard,  and  the  hearers  held 
up  their  hands  in  pious  gratification  at  the  narrow 
escape. 

Mrs.  BergthaPs  experience,  however,  capped  the 
climax. 

"What  do  you  think  my  gem  of  a  girl  did  last 
week  ?"  she  asked.  "  Actually  threw  away  a  dish  of 
1  gensgrieben/  because  she  didn't  know  they  were  good 
to  eat," 

A  universal  exclamation  of  horror  at  such  sacrilege 
greeted  the  speaker. 

"Servants  are  a  hardship,"  said  Mrs.  Blumen,  at 
length,  shaking  her  head  vigorously.  "To  be  happy, 
one  must  get  along  without  them." 

This  intellectual  conversazione  was  interrupted  from 
time  to  time  by  appropriate  intermezzos  from  the  card- 
room,  such  as,  "  I  pass  ; "  "  Booms  ; "  "  Eckstein  ; " 
"Kreutz-donner-wetter;"  "Vot  does  de  Talmud  say?" 
"  I  call ; "  "  Rosenheim  is  bait." 

Meanwhile  Bertha  and  Mr.  Ehrlich,  for  whom 
neither  cards  nor  servant-girls  had  any  interest,  sat 
apart  and  conversed  in  low  tones.  It  was  a  moment 
of  intense  suspense  for  the  young  man.  He  was  very 
close  to  her,  and  at  intervals  her  hair  almost  stroked 
his  cheeks  and  sent  the  hot  blood  mantling  to  his  brow. 
He  longed  to  caress  the  soft  tresses.  He  thought  of  a 
poem  by  Heinrich  Heine  : 


The  Game  of  Solo.  309 

"  Dame  Fortune  is  a  fickle  fairy, 

Who  loves  not  by  your  side  to  stay ; 
She  strokes  your  hair  with  fingers  airy, 
Imprints  a  kiss  and  flies  away.'' 

If  he  could  but  fetter  Dame  Fortune,  hold  her  in  his 
embrace,  have  her  stroke  his  forehead  and  kiss  his  lips 
forever  !  To  him  Bertha  was  fortune,  bliss,  ecstasy ! 

Said  Bertha,  at  length,  with  an  assumed  air  of  great 
indifference : 

"  I  suppose  you  know  I  am  going  to  leave  town  to- 
morrow ?" 

"  No,"  he  replied,  as  he  felt  his  heart  sink.  "  Where 
are  you  going  ?" 

"  To  visit  a  relative  in  Richmond." 

The  warm  blood  surged  to  his  cheeks  as  he  stam- 
mered : 

"  To  Richmond  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bertha.  "  Lena's  cousin  came  from 
Germany  several  months  ago  and  settled  in  Richmond. 
She  has  written,  begging  one  of  us  to  come  and  see  her. 
Lena  cannot  go,  so  I  have  decided  to  undertake  the 
trip." 

"  Why,  this  is  very  sudden,"  said  poor  Ehrlich. 

He  remembered,  with  a  palpitating  heart,  that  Mr. 
Jacoby  had  also  moved  to  Richmond,  and  he  won- 
dered whether  there  could  be  any  esoteric  connection 
between  these  two  migrations. 

"  It  is  rather  sudden,"  assented  Bertha.  "  We  only 
decided  on  the  journey  this  morning.  There  is  little 
to  keep  me  here  just  now — no  social  event  of  any  im- 
portance." 


310  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  But  Richmond  is  quite  for,"  murmured  Ehrlich,  not 
finding  anything  more  logical  to  say  in  his  consterna- 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl ;  "  it  is  a  very  long  ride,  and  T 
must  leave  by  daybreak.  Unfortunate,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Very,"  grumbled  Ehrlich,  with  a  vague  apprehension 
that  if  he  delayed,  his  opportunity  might  be  eternally 
lost. 

"  Dear  me !"  said  Bertha,  looking  at  her  watch  and 
rising  suddenly.  "  I  must  go  home,  or  I'll  oversleep 
myself  in  the  morning." 

She  glanced  into  the  card-room. 

"  Isaac,  can  you  take  me  home  now  ? "  she  asked 
of  her  brother.  "  You  know  I  must  get  up  before  day- 
break." 

Schwartz  was  scanning  his  cards.  "I'll  make  it  a 
solo-herz,"  he  said,  oblivious  to  everything  but  the  game. 

Bertha  repeated  the  question. 

"  My  dear !  "  exclaimed  Schwartz,  greatly  surprised ; 
"  are  you  '  meshugga '  (mad)  ?  Leave  in  the  middle  of 
a  solo-herz  ?  Wait  ten  minutes,  and  I'll  go  with  you." 

Bertha  rejoined  her  silent  admirer,  who  had  been 
pondering  how  best  to  break  the  news  of  his  affection 
for  her.  Twice  he  started  a  vague  declaration;  but  the 
words  obstinately  refused  to  find  utterance. 

Bertha  spoke  of  the  last  Harmony  ball,  of  Emma's 
approaching  marriage,  and  of  the  prospects  of  amateur 
theatricals  during  the  winter.  The  married  ladies  were 
discussing  the  bargains  in  mantillas  at  Blumen's. 

Suddenly  there  was  an  explosion  in  the  card-room. 
The  voice  of  Rosenheim  was  heard  in  vehement  accusa- 


The  Game  of  Solo.  311 

tion,  while  the  combined  voices  of  the  other  men  were 
heard  in  angry  protestations. 

"  Who  ever  saw  such  playing  ?  "  cried  Rosenheim,  in- 
dignantly. "  If  you  had  played  correctly,  I  must  have 
von.  I  had  herz-oss,  koenig,  sechs-mal,  ecke-zehn,  zu- 
dritt  and  shippen-oss,  besetzt !  Vouldn't  you  call  dat  a 
good  hand  for  a  solo  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Blumen,  excitedly,  tl  if  you  had  played 
out.  But  Schwartz  led  with  a  small  club  and  you 
trumped  it  with  your  best  card.  You  should  have 
played  out  the  smallest  card  in  your  hand.  That  blun- 
der cost  you  ten  points." 

The  excitement  ran  high.  The  gentlemen  were  fast 
losing  their  tempers.  Rosenheim  had  three  baits  to  win 
back,  or  his  loss  would  be  considerable. 

At  this  juncture  Bertha  again  appeared  at  the  door, 
and  urged  her  brother  to  take  her  home.  It  was  an  in- 
opportune and  inauspicious  move  on  her  part. 

"  Bertha,"  ejaculated  Schwartz,  in  surprise,  "  you 
ought  to  know  better !  It  is  as  much  as  my  life  is 
worth  to  stop  before  Rosenheim  gets  out  of  his  '  baits.' 
If  you  can't  wait,  go  home  alone." 

Here  Mr.  Ehrlich  had  an  inspiration,  such  as  comes 
to  a  man  but  once  in  a  lifetime. 

"Let  me  see  you  home,  Miss  Schwartz,"  he  said, 
pleadingly. 

Said  Bertha  coyly,  "  I  should  reproach  myself  for 
taking  you  away  from  such  good  company." 

To  which  Ehrlich  answered,  with  inexplicable  courage 
and  tact,  "With  your  departure  there  is  no  longer  any 
attraction  for  me  here.  Let  me  see  you  home." 


312  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Bertha  blushed  and  accepted.  They  bade  the  ladies 
good-night  and  went  out  together.  What  a  relief  from 
the  hot  and  smoke-laden  parlor  was  the  cold,  invigorat- 
ing atmosphere  of  the  street ! 

For  a  time  they  walked  on  in  silence,  a  strange  emotion 
overpowering  their  souls.  The  moon  shone  brightly, 
and  its  rays  lit  up  the  girl's  ruddy  cheeks,  and  mirrored 
itself  in  her  deep  brown  eyes.  She  raised  her  glance  to 
heaven  and  sighed.  "  How  beautiful  it  all  is ! "  she 
exclaimed,  wistfully.  "  To  me  there  is  nothing  more 
eloquent  than  the  sky.  Of  what  distance,  what  im- 
mensity, what  marvelous  order  the  stars  and  moon  give 
evidence.  I  can  almost  hear  the  music  of  the  spheres." 

"There  is  a  cloud  scudding  across  the  moon,"  said 
Ehrlich,  catching  her  mood.  "So  do  doubts  and  sorrows 
come  to  darken  our  lives." 

"  We  must  not  let  them.  See,  the  cloud  has  gone  and 
the  moon  is  clear  again.  Trials  and  cares  have  no 
power  to  darken  the  soul ;  they  are  but  transitory.  The 
brightness  of  the  soul  is  eternal." 

He  felt  her  arm  tremble  in  his.  "  Are  you  cold  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no !  This  is  much  better  than  being  in  the  hot 
room.  One  can  breathe  here,  one  can  live." 

"  And  love,"  he  exclaimed,  involuntarily.  The  word 
had  escaped  him,  and  he  wondered  at  his  own  temerity. 

"  Yes  and  love,"  she  replied.  "Surely  Nature  teaches 
us  the  philosophy  of  living  and  loving." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Each  seemed  plunged  in 
reflections  they  feared  to  voice. 

Never  had  Bertha  appeared  so  radiant,  so  lovable  to 


The  Game  of  Solo.  313 

Ehrlich  as  she  did  with  the  moonlight  streaming  upon 
her.  With  a  start  Bertha  appeared  to  realize  the 
seriousness  of  the  situation,  and  she  hastily  withdrew 
her  arm  from  that  of  the  young  man.  Then,  woman- 
like, she  endeavored  to  draw  her  companion  back  to  the 
realities  of  life  by  a  change  of  conversation.  The  transi- 
tion was  sudden  and  abrupt. 

"  I  fear  we  are  growing  sentimental,"  she  said.  "This 
will  never  do !  Come,  let  us  talk  about  something  else — 
nbout  our  friends.  How  thoroughly  interested  men  be- 
come when  playing  cards !" 

Ehrlich  came  back  to  earth  with  a  rude  mental 
shock. 

"  No  wonder,"  he  replied.  "  To  them  the  game  is  as 
suggestive  of  the  philosophy  of  life  as  is  Nature  to  you 
and  me.  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  life  is  very 
much  like  a  game  of  solo  ?  " 

"  Never,"  she  replied,  smiling. 

"  You  see,"  he  explained,  shyly  at  first,  but  more  con- 
fidently as  he  progressed,  "  the  cards  that  are  dealt  are 
so  many  opportunities  given  us  by  Providence,  which 
may  be  played  for  good  or  evil.  Many,  I  fear,  resemble 
Mr.  Rosenheim,  and  make  the  worst  possible  use  of  the 
best  possible  material,  and,  as  a  result,  they  are  badly 
'bait,'" 

"  Go  on,"  said  Bertha,  with  manifest  interest. 

"  There  is  the  '  blind,'  which  represents  those  unknown 
and  unforeseen  circumstances  which  often  frustrate  our 
best  endeavors.  How  many  say,  '  I  pass.'  and  wearily 
lay  down  their  hands,  because  these  circumstances  are 
inimical  to  their  well-being." 


314  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

Bertha  was  surprised  to  hear  him  grow  so  eloquent 
over  a  game  of  cards. 

"  In  life,  too,"  he  continued,  "  each  man  must  play  a 
solo ;  must  look  out  for  himself,  antagonized  by  all  the 
rest." 

"  And  in  the  end  ?  "  suggested  Bertha. 

"  In  the  end,  the  player  passes  in  his  chips,  and  settles 
with  his  Maker." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Don't  you  think  there  is  an  analogy  which  you  have 
overlooked  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  furtively.  "  In  life,  as  in 
solo,  the  hearts  play  an  inordinately  important  part." 

"  So  they  do,"  assented  Mr.  Ehrlich. 

He  looked  into  her  mischievous  eyes,  as  though  in 
doubt,  then  murmured,  with  a  supreme  effort: 

"  Bertha,  my  heart  is  weary  of  playing  a  solo.  Will 
you  give  me  yours  to  keep  it  company  ?  " 

Bertha  hung  her  head  demurely,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Will  you  accept  my  love  and  my  heart  ?  Will  you 
be  my  wife  ?  Do  not  reject  me.  I  have  been  in  doubt 
so  long,  yearning,  yet  fearing  to  avow  my  love.  Say 
you  will  be  my  wife." 

Bertha  was  not  unprepared  for  this  confession ;  but 
it  was  unexpectedly  sweet  to  her,  and  set  her  heart 
bounding  none  the  less.  Here  was  a  soul  in  which  she 
could  confide,  a  man  on  whom  she  could  lean.  There 
was  no  difference  of  creed  to  forbid  the  union,  no  fear 
for  the  future  to  mar  the  bliss  of  the  moment.  She 
nestled  closer  to  her  lover,  and  he  divined  rather  than 
heard  her  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   CONCLUSION. 

"  Let  me  attune  to  lighter  lays 

The  harp  that  twanged  the  dreary  dole — 
My  footsteps  fall  in  fairer  ways, 
Lit  by  the  dawn  of  golden  days — 
The  promise  of  a  quiet  soul." 

— Felix  N.  Gerson. 

BY  seven  in  the  morning  the  news  of  the  engage- 
ment had  spread  from  Pearl  Street  to  Cedar,  and  had 
then  been  disseminated  through  every  other  street  in 
which  Israelites  lived.  Even  Mrs.  Lazinsky,  in  her 
court  off  Oak  Street,  heard  of  it,  and  ran  over  to  the 
Schwartz  domicile  to  wish  them  "  masseltof."  An  en- 
gagement in  a  family  as  prominent  as  the  Schwartzes 
was  an  event  of  importance.  That  evening  the  house 
was  again  crowded,  as  it  had  been  on  the  day  of  Bertha's 
arrival.  A  case  of  champagne — the  first  that  many 
of  these  good  people  had  ever  tasted — unloosened  a 
score  of  tongues,  and  jollity  reigned  supreme.  The 
Rabbi,  true  to  his  profession,  waxed  eloquent  and  made 
a  speech,  modeled  after  the  dissertations  of  the  Midrash, 
in  which  the  names  of  Ehrlich  (honest)  and  Schwartz 
(dark)  lent  themselves  to  some  clever  punning.  Then 
Mr.  Rosenheim,  as  president  of  the  congregation,  arose, 
rather  unsteadily. 

315 


316  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

"  I  rise  up,"  said  he,  "  like  a  palloon,  but  not  filled 
mit  gas,  but  mit  friendship  for  de  '  Chusen  und  Kalle ' 
(bride  and  groom)  vot  celebrate  der  engagement  to- 
night. Vot  does  de  Talmud  say?  Kivan  Shenosah 
Adam.  Veil,  never  mind  vot  de  Talmud  says.  It 
means  matrimony  is  an  end  of  all  trouble,  bud  it's 
hard  to  tell  vich  end.  I  have  had  experience  mit 
matrimony,  und  can  tell  de  groom  some  t'ings  he  don'd 
know  yed.  A  'chochem'  (wise  man)  never  tries  to  give 
a  voman  a  satisfactory  answer.  It  is  vorse  den  useless. 
Don'd  keep  nodding  secret  from  your  vife.  Dere  may 
be  some  t'ings  no  man  can  find  out ;  bud  it's  different 
mit  a  voman.  Alvays  gif  your  vife  her  own  vay.  It 
vill  prevent  her  from  being  opliged  to  take  it,  anyhow. 
Before  de  vedding  de  girl  is  very  dear  to  a  man's  heart ; 
aber  after  de  vedding  she  is  dearer  yet  to  his  pocket- 
book." 

Here  Mr.  Rosenheim  became  diffuse,  and  his  wife, 
gently  but  firmly  urged  him  back  into  his  chair. 

The  Rabbi,  acting  as  toastmaster,  called  upon  Mr. 
Basch  to  make  a  few  remarks.  That  gentleman  merely 
looked  at  his  wife,  and  regretted  that  he  was  not  prepared. 

Mr.  Bergthal  was  next  invited  to  say  a  word.  It  was 
quite  a  relief  to  him ;  for  he  desired,  if  possible,  to  out- 
do his  friend  Rosenheim. 

"  I  didn'd  expect  to  be  called  on,"  he  said,  naively, 
"or  I  vould  have  prepared  myself;  bud  I  remember  a 
liddle  poem  vot  might  do  for  dis  occasion."  And  he  de- 
livered himself  of  a  carefully  prepared  doggerel,  in  a 
mixture  of  German,  English  and  Hebrew,  the  conclud- 
ing lines  of  which, 


The  Conclusion.  317 

"  Massel  und  Brocha 
Der  ganzen  Meschpocha," 

elicited  much  applause. 

A  month  later  Louis  Ehrlich  and  Bertha  Schwartz 
were  married  at  the  synagogue,  which  was  resplendent 
with  new  paint  and  hangings.  Submitting  to  an  earnest 
request  on  the  part  of  the  groom,  the  board  passed  a 
resolution  allowing  men  and  their  wives  to  sit  side  by 
side  during  the  ceremony,  and  thus  inaugurated  a  re- 
form which  filled  the  souls  of  the  ultra  pious  with 
dismay,  but  which  became  popular  with  the  younger 
element,  and  still  survives. 

The  wedding  dinner  was  served  in  sumptuous  fashion 
at  the  Harmony  Club,  and  Louis  Ehrlich  and  Bertha, 
his  wife,  embarked  with  most  favorable  winds  on  their 
voyage  of  conjugal  bliss. 

Isaac  Schwartz,  the  philanthropist,  sat  with  his 
patient,  affectionate  helpmate  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
respected  and  venerated.  Few  knew  his  secret,  few 
suspected  the  misery  he  had  endured.  "  A  lucky  man ! " 
folks  called  him ;  and  now  that  his  troubles  were  at  an 
end,  he  deemed  himself  lucky  indeed.  On  the  day  of 
Bertha's  wedding  a  sum  of  money  was  anonymously 
distributed  through  the  dwellings  of  the  needy,  and 

every  poor  Israelite  in  B rejoiced.  They  did  not 

need  to  be  told  the  name  of  their  benefactor ;  they 
divined  it,  and  remembered  him  and  the  newly-married 
couple  in  their  prayers. 

Isaac's  philanthropy  continued  unabated.  Doing 
good  had  become  habitual  with  him,  and  each  deed 
rebounded  a  blessing. 


318  A  Victim  of  Conscience. 

One  day,  a  year  or  so  later,  August  Kern  called  to 
see  Bertha.  He  was  on  his  wedding  trip,  and  intro- 
duced his  wife,  a  pretty  blonde,  totally  unlike  Bertha, 
but  whom  he  loved  devotedly,  and  who,  moreover, 
offered  up  her  prayers  to  the  same  Saviour  and  found 
salvation  in  the  same  faith.  If  there  remained  in  his 
heart  a  trace  of  his  former  passion,  his  wife  never  dis- 
covered it. 


THE   END. 


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